Fate into Fulsomeness
by c'estquatre
Summary: The final of the three-part series. The pasts of the Servants in the Moon Cell's Holy Grail War finally come to light.
1. Fate into Fulsomeness

Fate/ into Fulsomeness

* * *

><p>To bottlingfireflies because this is the finale<p>

For poutine-salad because this is the beginning

* * *

><p>Sword, or Death<p>

with what in your hand…?

Flames dancing, Earth splitting, Oceans withering.


	2. into Archer: Faceless Queen

**into Archer: Faceless Queen**

"_World-glorious knight, and dirty no-face hero  
>Justice is what? Pride is whose?"<br>-Chimeric Sea 2, Fate/Extra_

—A flash.

Cold death comes streaming towards my face.

Yet amidst the neighing horses, and the shouts of men, I merely accept the fate that our Father has served to me.

Yet no matter how much I welcome the brief moment of pain, it never arrives. The arrow that was shot merely sails, almost grazing my cheek, crossing past my face, only to find it's intended target, someone who is not me; and my mind, betrayed by the sweet temptress that is death, returns to analyzing this chaos around me.

This was originally a lord's survey of his lands, so why, why did it turn out like this?

Swords clashing,

Blood splattering,

Men crying,

Surely, this is a scene of war that belongs in the hell known as the Crusades, not in the quiet peace of a forest. Yet the chaos continues with me, still just a child, unable to comprehend the events that have allowed this travesty to pass. My horse, a palfrey, stamps the ground with its hooves. Poor beast, so utterly confused-it has never seen men attack each other, much less kill each other, but the moment its hooves touch the ground…

I am thrown off the horse and plummet into darkness.

Who knew there was a hole here, a hole that would serve as my trap, a hole that would serve as my death?

But as I fall, I see them; I see that pair of Lincoln-green eyes.

Those ever-green eyes.

For the first time in my life I am moved—and by something so simple.

H-How can my worthless life compare to such an empty loneliness?

How can I live by my namesake when there is someone like that who exists?

How dare I call myself Rien?

A thud, and I hit the bottom of the ditch. This ditch has only been freshly dug so the soil is still rather dry; I'm sure someone will rescue me even though I am who I am. I am sure someone will rescue me, because after seeing him, I know that I am still worth something.

* * *

><p>A wicked child, that's what they called me behind my back.<p>

A bastard child, that's what they called me to my face.

At first it was unnerving and I did all that was possible to avoid others, but slowly enough, like everything else in this world, I got used to it. After all, I am what my name denotes; there is no changing that. If my parents did not love me, then so be it. It is a fact that I cannot change, but it changes nothing about who I am; it only changes who I could have been. But for someone who is nothing… It doesn't matter, it simply doesn't matter. Being special? I never tried to become an existence that shines brightly, because I was already there. I was special from the moment of my conception, but for all the wrong reasons. I will wear it as a stigma for all my life, but the fact would stay with me. Like my parents, it does not change who I am, but rather what I could have been. Funny, isn't it, how humans care so much about what could have been?

Which is why I was shocked when my father took me with him to England. Unlike my five half-sisters, I aspired to stay at home as always, sit at home and do embroidery or something like that. Being a spinster that lived on others was always my fate. No one wants a bastard child; in that way I guess I'm like a parasite living off something else. Yet against the vehement argument of my "step-mother," my father decided to take me on his trip to England.

Our family is an old family. We are nobles, but not like those nobles who live in Paris. No, we are the lowest rung of nobles. Why else did my father decide to take a common as a lover? But apparently once upon a time, during the great William's time, my family was prosperous. That past is ironically the future my sisters have decided on. They spend their lives dreaming about the ball gowns they would have, the dresses, and all the handsome suitors that would take them on walks around Paris. They do so while sitting in an empty parlor. It is really ironic and tragic to watch those girls deluding themselves about something they will never obtain. No man wants to marry into our family only for name, and I know that enough and my sisters are not nearly pretty enough to attract that kind of wealth. As for me; I'm no beauty either, and I'm a bastard child to boot. The spinster's life is all that was allowed for me. That is, until my father found an old deed from King William himself. Apparently my ancestor didn't care about the lands he obtained in England because he was so wealthy here, but now….

So we left our manor for England to a wooded region known as Sherwood. Eventually we arrived to the town without much of an entourage and my sisters ever-so angry. But I just kept quiet the whole time. I was a sooty blot, I shouldn't have been there. I knew that, my step-mother knew that, even my father knew that. Yet he brought me along. My step-mother keeps telling me to be grateful for that. She's not evil; I know that for certain because she tries her best. But in me she sees her failure as a wife to produce an heir, and to satisfy her husband. But in my sex she also finds hope, hope that one day she will produce an heir. She doesn't want to completely alienate me because of that hope, but she doesn't want to acknowledge me as well because of that disgrace—what a contradictory state of mind. But I don't blame the woman. She's as trapped as I am, unable to move in one direction or the other. I doubt she can stand looking at her own daughters, which is the one flaw I see in her. She worries too much about her "duty." Perhaps that is my looking into a mirror though, because if I wasn't so obsessed with "duty," maybe I too could avoid my fate.

The current owner of my father's land was known as the Sheriff. He was the sheriff of the town known as Nottingham. He seemed cordial to my father, recognizing him as the true owner of the land. He didn't notice me at all, but no one does; after all, who would recognize me when my name is Rien? I wasn't even introduced to him. The sheriff bragged about how prosperous the estates were and how strict the laws were, but no one was listening to him. My sisters were too busy admiring the finery of the household, and I was sitting by myself, out of the way, grateful to be out of the house for once. Finally when marriage was discussed my sisters leapt at the opportunity to have their names linked to such a "fine" man. He wasn't exactly ugly. He just seemed… soft. As if there had been nothing that tempered him. He was ruthless and by doing so obtained everything he wanted. I felt that was truly ugly. He had never earned anything in his life; he only gained things by stealing from others. Still, that's better than doing nothing at all.

After all the pomp he invited my father to tour the area, to which he agreed. After all the bragging the sheriff did about the forest, I am sure my father just felt compelled to go.

And then I saw those eyes. It was simple really; we didn't have much of a guard, only a few mounted soldiers. And then came the attack.

"Outlaws or the sort," the sheriff offhandedly said afterward, but I am sure my father was shocked. He was angry, angry at this sort of chaos in his own land and having such an incompetent sheriff. He wanted to fire him, and I am sure my father had the right to, but all the nobles backed the Sheriff. They all said the Sheriff was doing his best against this threat, and that the outlaws used such unfair tactics such as threatening the serfs and robbing the tax collectors. My father, no matter how angry he was, understood. Yet to keep the appearance of a powerful lord, he took the sheriff's brother, a person who saved my father's life in the ambush as a vassal. They got on well; very well, they had similar interests, and a similar temperament. They truly were as thick as thieves and almost became like brothers, because the most prominent thing that connected them was how he had saved my father's life during that ambush. My father would recount tirelessly of that time during our dinners and when we had visitors. So when my father's health started to decline just ten months after the visit to Nottingham, the Sheriff's brother was the only person that was allowed to go near my father.

My father was to die. It was like an unspoken cloud that hung over the family, subtly poisoning the atmosphere of every single room. It was to be expected, for no one had ever thought about what would happen if my father died. There was no heir; my step-mother was unable to conceive during that time. It was entirely uncertain as to who would inherit the land. At worst, the king would receive the land and our family would be kicked out. So as news of my father's sickness started to spread to the court, many offers of marriage came to my sisters. I hope my sisters were disgusted; after all, their father was dying. He may not have loved me, but he did take care of me and I had a better life than those orphans thrown onto the street. For that I thank him, but I will never love him.

Which is why I was surprised to be called in his bedroom. I shuffled my feet, and he made a few hacking, pointed coughs, but. We we were just silent until he sighed,

"I'm about to die, and the worst part of it is I don't know why."

He seemed resigned to his fate so I didn't say anything.

Then from under his pillow he took out a gold rosary, rather large, about as wide as an strawberry and as long as a quill. It was the second most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. Each point was encrusted in with an emerald and the whole thing shimmered softly in the candlelight ghostly glowing green. I never had never worn jewelry before because I had never needed to attract attention. I was supposed to hide away in the background, never being seen. So to be given this….

"I am giving you this. It was made the day you were born. It will protect you."

Oh, that's why the stones are emerald. I opened my trembling cupped hands and take the first gift I was ever given, and then I realized for the first time in my life that maybe I hated this man. It was such an overwhelming feeling that I, repressing those feelings, left without saying a word of thanks before that feeling could take me over.

So here I am, standing in the mud of England away from my home. The squabbles eventually escalated after my father died, and as a way to eliminate competition I was sent away to live in England before the funeral. I was exiled because this was the land that no longer mattered to my family. They had to fight for the land they were familiar with; they had to fight for their land in France. And I, who knew English from all the "tutoring" I had, was thrown into this mud without a horse. They didn't care if I died on my journey. They gave me enough money to get to Nottingham, but they didn't really care. They only did that as an excuse so if I died, they could all say "we gave her money; it is her fault that she strode off the path and died." This is a world as convenient as that. I was supposed to seek the sheriff and live as I always have, as a parasite, never working, only preying. So in that manner I had no trouble cursing my fate.

"Hey lady, if you stay sulking the fairies are going to go away." A voice unseen came from the forest known as Sherwood.

"Es-Tu?" I asked instinctively, but then I remembered where I was.

"You are?" I repeated the question in a thickly accented English.

"Haha, we don't see much of your kind here."

I still could not pinpoint where the sound came from.

"My kind?" His statement gets me off guard.

"Why, the only person who speaks French around here is the Sheriff," Whispers a tickling sensation on the corner of my right ear.

In a violent motion I turn to face those Lincoln-green eyes, but this time I do not meet them with awe. There is no need for that anymore because I know what those eyes say now.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

His eyes sharpen. He is completely serious; there is none of the playfulness that he displayed before. Truly it is the look of nettles.

"I am the Faceless King, ruler of these forests, and who are you?"

Even though that is an arrogant statement there is no arrogance in his words, for he states it blatantly and matter-of-factly.

I start to open my mouth, but any response I might have given is cut short by the increasing number of men surrounding us.

"Are these your men?" I uncomfortably say to the man in Lincoln green behind me.

"Ahahaha, no, so I'm guessing, lady, that these aren't your men either."

He laughs uncomfortably and a little forced, as if wondering how and why he got into this mess in the first place.

"Halt," the grossly overweight one heading the party commands us. "Please hand over the lady. She is a criminal wanted by the Sheriff."

It doesn't make any sense at all. Even if I am French I understand what he says, but, a criminal? Me?

"What is her crime?"

The Faceless King seems to ask for me.

"Why, she is pretending to be a noble so as to claim these lands for herself. She is disgracing the family that does own this land and committing treason."

The overweight man reads out my litany of charges.

"Why I never thought I'd ever see the day…" The Faceless King seems to be feigning amazement. It is really impressive that he is calm even in this situation. "A pig talking, and thinking he knows what the definition of treason is. Why, how remarkable."

A vein bulges out of the overweight man's temple.

"I suppose then you'll have to arrest me too," the Faceless King declares, "because I am the king of these forests. I am your Green Man."

The soldiers behind their overweight leader look at each other for a moment as if unsure what to do.

"Get him!" The overweight man screams in a high-pitched piggish squeal.

The Faceless King now also known as the Green Man snorts.

"First time I've been seen in a while, and this is what I get; how fitting. I really should just stay in the shadows."

I turn at the soldiers charging at us with their pikes and back to the man who calls himself king.

"What are you going to do about this?" I absolutely scream at him.

He turns back to me with an expression of surprise; it seems he had forgotten I was here.

"Well, I doubt I can meet them head on, so there is nothing else to do except…"

The pikes start to close in. I can see their metal tips glinting through the canopy of Sherwood Forest.

"Run!"

Without warning of any sort he grabs my hand, jerking it towards him as he dashes away with me in tow, but I have not run in all my life; I've never had to run for my life before. Not like this. My veins burn with the adrenaline I have never felt before. Is this what it means to live? Flittering on the edge of life and death; to which extreme does this activity lean towards? Even so, eventually I slow down.

"You, you really are a noble, aren't you?" The Faceless King's frivolous remarks are not welcome at his moment.

"They are catching up!" I try to direct his attention away from whatever his attention is on.

"Don't you think I know, but we're nearly there, so hold on." He gazes out wistfully even though he is dashing along the forest floor.

I have no time to linger on him though. My lungs are on fire. The adrenaline that made my veins and muscles into fire is slowly burning my lungs. Every breath hurts. Every movement just hurts so much. I am not going to make. I do not even know where I am headed to. I just know that I will never reach that place. Désole, the father I hated, for it seems that the rosary that you gave me will do nothing to impede the death that is coming for me. Why, not even those eyes which saved me a year ago can do anything about it now.

"You weren't this pitiful last time we met."

He sweeps me from underneath. It's like in those princess novels where the prince takes the princess off her feet and she swoons. But it's nothing like that. It feels disgusting. It feels as if I am utterly helpless. Books are wrong. There is nothing happy about being carried like that; there is nothing to swoon about. Those Arthurian ladies must have had something terribly wrong with them. But I stop struggling. I stop because of those words, and more importantly those Lincoln green eyes.

Yet before I am able to comment on anything he dives under a tree and we wait.

I can smell it. I can smell the absolute stench. I can smell what is underfoot.

The pike-men led by a wheezing leader continue their charge through the forest until the forest itself dissolves and all that is waiting for the is the darkness of the forest floor.

A gaping hole like the one I fell into but a year ago lies in the middle of the forest floor. My horse died on impact, but I landed on top of it so I was fine.

"I think they are all dead by now."

He pays no attention to the screams and lamentations of those inside the pit and gets up to observe what hasis happened inside the pit.

"Well I did have a bone to pick with him. He stole all the villagers' foodstuffs one year ago. Yes, for the sake of justice, I will kill a part of me that is human."

He nods to himself, once and twice, as if accepting the sight that he sees. I get away from the place that we were hiding from and…

"You really shouldn't look down there."

He walks away with those ominous words, somewhat filled with a sense of self-loathing.

The bodies that are down that pit are no longer human. They are sacks of meat with bone sticking out. Never having seen anything quite like this before, so I completely retch out the contents of my stomach. I slowly wipe my mouth, the taste of bile heavy on my tongue:

"What did you do to these people?"

"There was a certain type of poison I laced that pit with. It is a peculiar type of poison. In high amounts it is able to take the skin off a man. I do not have enough to do that so I merely used my bow."

What does a bow have to do with poison? But truly the bow he holds is beautiful. It is carved from a yew tree, I know that much. It is made to be attached to one's wrist so one may not let go of it. Truly a weapon fit for a man who seems to have made a contract with the forest.

"Why did not you stand and fight? Are you a coward?"

And the moment his eyes meet me seems to be infinitesimal. There is something remarkably wrong with him. At the mention of the word "coward" he is completely serious and seems ready to kill. I end up touching my rosary out of shock.

"If," he starts out sadly. "If we stood and fought, we would have died. The most precious thing about you is your life. Keep it safe. Only your life cannot be replaced, so don't throw it away just like that. To protect that quiet way of life… I'll conceal my weapons, I'll conceal my pride, and I'll conceal my true face. And you? Who are you to so quickly throw away your life?"

At that moment I understand many things and but am unable to comprehend many more. He's a hypocrite. He tells me that life is so precious, yet he runs around as if his life is as cheap as dirt. From what I see he does not even have any followers- he's alone, much like me. How can one man fight an army like he has? He… must hate himself. Much like…

"Rien."

He furrows his brow.

"Truly, that is your name?" Even though he is a commoner he seems to understand the meaning of that name.

"Oui." I nod my head.

"Well then. You are free now aren't you? You can do what you want. At least until that Sheriff finds you."

I nod one more time and as he walks away I follow him. After a few steps he stops:

"Why are you following me?"

"You trapped me. You owe me."

He curses but makes no other sound as I follow him to his palace.

* * *

><p>I...<p>

I rush out in a storm of activity. I don't want to be here anymore. No I doubt I could take another day in this place. Living in a cottage is fine, living without the Spartan luxuries I had before is fine however:

"Rien!"

He chases me, my fingers still bloodied.

Dammit, why didn't anyone tell me it would be like this? Living with someone like this only brings hate. Hate like the hate I felt for my father. A hate so fierce that it feels like the first time I truly ran for my life: a blaze overwhelming my body, charring every other emotion that I feel.

Eventually I stop running. What's the point? I have nowhere to return to. I have no one to depend on. In France, even if I didn't have anything left, I still… Even that is gone now. All I have now is this hate welling inside of me.

"Rien?"

He starts to approach me.

"Get away!" I shout above the wind.

"What's wrong, Rien, seriously you just ran away from the house like that."

"Je,…" I start, so distressed that I lapse into my native French. "Je ne desire pas faire deteste toi. Vraiment, je ne desire pas faire deteste toi beaucoup."

He doesn't understand those words but he understands their sentiment. I am sure he understood words like deteste though.

"And why would you hate me?"

"Je ne sais pas," I immediately answer. "I… To think about something so much that it makes you go crazy—That is hatred. Je ne desire pas faire sentir cette. So I have to get away from here." I scream it, unable to hold it close to my heart any longer.

His eyes at that moment are the kindest that I have ever seen them.

"To think about someone else so much it makes you go almost crazy. That feeling, it's very close to hatred, but it's not. It's love…C'est l'amour?"

He struggles to make our basic sounds, but his words wash over me and I start to break down in tears because surprisingly, I accept them, even if they sound like empty sweet words. It was love all along. I didn't hate my father on the moment of his deathbed. I…loved him. Even though he treated me like my namesake for all those years, the lasts memory I have of him is one of love. That's just too unfair. Why? Why did I love him even though he gave me such a cruel fate? This is really an unfair world.

An itchy Lincoln cloak surrounds me. It's really quite uncomfortable, but I let the Faceless King wrap his arms around me. After all, I have just admitted to his face that I love him.

* * *

><p>"Rien! Oh it's Rien, dear."<p>

The kindly still young man calls out to his wife.

"What, I'm busy," she appears holding her new child. "Oh, Rien sorry I didn't know you were here."

I laugh embarrassed at the attention and the uproar. These two are a kindly couple, one that you would find in a fairytale. They complain about and to each other, but that only reveals how close they really are. I quickly take out the herbs from my dress' pocket and hand it to the proud new mother.

"Oh, thank you so much. The little boy has been vomiting a bit… haven't you Billy." She touches the nose of the baby as if he can understand. "You're such a good girl, Rien. It's a shame you weren't born my daughter or even my sister. Have I told you about my sister?"

The moment I open my mouth the man butts in.

"Oh Sharon, no one wants to hear about your old sister. You've talked about her so many times to poor Rien. Sorry Rien." Her husband apologizes to me.

I smile just a bit.

"Well I can't believe that a girl like Rien is wasted on that man."

The atmosphere turns cold for a second. They really don't like him do they.

They look at me warily and the man motions his wife to apologize. "Sorry Rien, I'm sure that he's a good person, but he's strange isn't he? I mean he claims to talk to fairies."

"He does. The only thing he worries about is the day they don't talk back to him. Still, I love him and that is enough for me."

Slowly my accent is going away. Is this me trying to escape from my past?

"Ah, young love. It's been a while since I felt any of that love come my way," she says to no one in particular.

The man groans, "I can't stop her when she gets like this. Here's some bread, freshly baked. Thank you Rien. Truly, our family owes you so much. Even if it doesn't look like it, I value Sharon. Thank you for helping her though her pregnancy."

"Dear, I'm sure Rien has many other places to go. You shouldn't keep her. Rien, come around and I'll teach you my family's style of embroidery one day."

I nod as I accept the bread as graciously as possible. It really is too much just for a few herbs. I step out of their market stall, but as I let the tanned skin go:

"Thank god for the Faceless King who protects this village. I know we say that he is not part of our village and that everything is his fault, but…I'm sure we wouldn't be able to survive the winter if not for him."

I smile as I return home to that Faceless King.

* * *

><p>But he died.<p>

The only one I loved died.

We weren't even married for a year before I had to bury him.

He, the walking contradiction who preached so much about the preciousness of life yet was so willing to endanger his own life for the lives of people who didn't even care for him died. He died a useless, pathetic death, one that shouldn't have happened to a person like him.

Hearing that he still had a cousin alive in the Kirkless Priory he was tricked into having his blood excessively let. What an idiotic man. He didn't even tell me, his own wife, he was going out that day. He died near the River Calder where a yew tree grew. So stupid, he was so stupid, he died so stupidly. I am infuriated at that man who called himself the Faceless King. In the end he didn't even fulfill his dream. What an empty way to die; especially for someone like him.

So here I stand all alone again and in front of me is the yew bow that he used to single-handily save a village against an army. I lean in to pick it up. It's utterly stunning; the bow carved in an ornate style. H-He really must have loved this bow to put so much time and effort into constructing it… But it's heavy. Of course it would be heavy. Isn't he the one who told me that the heaviest thing in this world is a person's life? So of course a weapon, an item that takes that life, must be heavy. A light weapon has no meaning. So I take the bow, I take the cloak, and I take the mask from his face and become the queen I was never crowned.

* * *

><p>He protected the village because even though he hated the village and villagers he loved their quiet way of life.<p>

But I'm different.

The villagers thought he was possessed by the very fairies he was friends with and isolated him.

But I'm different.

Never did they try to isolate me, never did they think that I was a strange existence even if I loved him… I cannot hate the villagers because they were so kind to me. So in that way the Faceless King and I are different, another reason why the Sheriff of Nottingham is standing opposite me holding onto a sword.

"You have caused me a lot of trouble over these two years."

I say nothing because if I am to speak I will betray who I truly am.

"You poisoned my men, you trapped my men. I allowed that because in the beginning you served a purpose but now… you are mere scum. I need to get rid of the scum that curses these lands. I guess you're here because of that assassination plot. But let me ask… Why didn't you die?"

Ahh, so you are the one who killed him. You are the usurper that tried to take the throne from my Faceless King.

For that you will die.

I rush in with nothing but a bow. My husband never fought with a sword. Why would he? He was protecting the forest; he never had to win an offensive war. All he ever fought were battles of attrition. Poisons, traps, sabotages, those were the staples of his life. But he was not a coward. How else was a man supposed go against a whole army? There is no answer to that question. Some might even call it impossible. But for the sake of his justice, he took the thorny path. A path filled with no glory and no thanks. And following that path right to the end, he died.

Quickly I am merely swatted away by the Sheriff's sword. I am allowed no time to ready an arrow, for this bow is incapable of close-range attack. I have seen my husband use it enough to note its limitations, so all I can do now is dodge the fatal swings while taking as many of the non-fatal ones as possible. I know the limitations of my body; I am more robust than my time in captivity, but I have nowhere near as much stamina as my husband or this Sheriff who I once thought wasn't that bad looking.

But I fail and fall to the ground with pain, coughing blood. He must have caught my ribs or something of the sort. It hurts; it really hurts for someone like me who has almost never experienced pain before in her life. But what overwhelms the pain is the fear. The fear that I try to abate by moving my hand to that worthless rosary worn around my neck, but it's not there. Where did it go? My thoughts reach fever-pitch with emotions of fear, pain, and worry all fighting for control. But none of them are able to wrest control of my brain because,

"You know some people call you "Robin Hood." You must have heard the tall tales of that outlaw. You know, the yeoman who steals from the rich to give to the poor? Certainly you have heard of the one that lived during the crusades in the time of John Lackland? They say you are him, you are the righteous outlaw here to rid the populace of poverty."

He's spits outs that acknowledgement and starts approaching. Like a lion that has cornered his prey he is approaching. Like a predator that just wants to toy a little longer with the rodent it has trapped he is approaching.

"But…"

Move.

Move, you damn body.

Why won't you move?

My husband's mask and hood are removed from me. My own brown hair is nothing compared to the true Faceless King's fiery orange locks.

"You!" He snarls.

"Me," I retort with as much swagger as I can muster.

I double over as he suddenly lashes out and smashing my stomach with the hilt of his sword. It takes all my strength to stop myself from falling to my knees.

"Haha, you? A nobleman's bastard? And a woman to boot. That you would be the one to take the mantle of 'Robin Hood,' how laughable."

He had never wanted to be 'Robin Hood.' His purpose was never to steal from the rich to give from the poor. But as he continued to protect this village's way of life the inhabitants began to label him as 'Robin Hood.' They wished for a hero come to save them. They wished for such a convenient existence, and so the faceless man who had just wanted not to lose anything anymore became absorbed into a legend larger than himself.

Oh...I just understood what that statement meant. It's sad. It's truly sad.

He would never be thanked for his work. He would never be thanked by the people that he saved. All the thanks would go to 'Robin Hood,' and my Faceless King would never be remembered in the songs sung by the bards. Parents would tell his stories to their children, yet never utter his name. It's just too sad, especially for someone like him. Yet he knew this; he understood this and continued. He said that life was precious and that for the sake of justice, he would kill a fraction of himself that was human. He would have it no other way. And here I believed that I was taking his role, but I am only taking the role known as 'Robin Hood.' It doesn't matter if I die or I succeed because all the credit goes to 'Robin Hood,' not to my Faceless King, nor to myself.

My introspection was interrupted by a needling voice.

"Well, I guess you do have a reason to hate me. After all I was the one who killed your father, though indirectly, of course."

What—what did he say? What were the words formed by that cruel mouth?

"Oh, you are shocked? You would be. You think I would be a loyal dog to you? I orchestrated that ambush by tipping off the villagers, saying that an army would be coming to evict them from their homes la di da di da. I wanted your family to die. Why else did I try to make you a wanted woman when you arrived at Nottingham a year ago? Well, both of those instances failed. I had plans within plans though. My brother was to kill your father in that ambush if he got the chance. That utter idiot failed, he even ended up saving your father. Luckily your father wanted him as a bodyguard. Don't you see, you stupid girl? I ordered my brother to slowly poison your father."

P-Poison my father, but… Yet in the final months of my father's life the only person he would see was that man. Not even my step-mother was allowed to see him. It makes sense. It's logical. And he was the one who orchestrated the ambush in that forest that day? Ha, this man is truly ruthless: all those lies and deceit just to keep ruling this land? I really can't stand his existence. My husband said that all lives were precious, yet hypocritically the only way he could stay true to that ideal was to regard his own life as dirt. This Sheriff is exactly the opposite; he regards his own life as the most precious and everyone else's life is dirt.

But I can do nothing as he just stands there laughing at me. I don't have any allies here. The villagers know the moment they try anything they will die. That was why they forced all the blame onto my husband and pretended they had nothing to do with the one protecting them, even if they had wished for that sort of convenient existence. This is too sad. This end is just too sad. There is no salvation for anyone in this ending. No wonder my husband gave into self-loathing the moment he became the forest's king.

Yet…

-a flash

-those ever-green eyes

-to think about someone else so much it makes you go almost crazy. That feeling, it's very close to hatred, but it's not. It's love…

-and he died

-protect you

He's laughing at my miserable body.

He's laughing at my miserable existence.

But it's there right in front my miserable body.

Even though my head hurts so much from being beaten I can still recall those words.

Why?

"I am giving you this. It was made the day you were born. It will protect you."

It was the first thing he had ever given to the daughter he had ignored for her whole life.

Was it some sort of paltry gift?

Was it something meaningless trinket?

Was it the last piece of self-satisfaction the worthless man wanted to bestow on himself?

I don't know. All I know is that the golden leaf on the bottom part of the cross has faded, and now something cold and metallic glistens in the sunlight.

While he is still laughing at me I grab it as quickly as possible.

And with the rest of my strength I stand.

Even if it hurts.

Even if my whole body seems like it is burning.

I stand to face the murderer of the people I loved.

"Sheriff, you are the one who set up the ambush about a year ago, right?" My eyes are downcast, focusing only on one thing.

"Don't you have ears, girl?"

"Oh. Then as a lady and in accordance with courtly manner I must thank you." My palm starts to bleed from gripping too hard.

"Hah?" He's severely confused and for the first time he is showing an opening in this stance.

Fully exploiting his surprise I rush in with my rosary as my only weapon.

"Pour l'introduction de me mari, je dois vous remercier beaucoup." Slipping back into my native tongue I whisper the truth of that day into his ear.

His eyes bulge because he does not truly understand that statement, but then he does not need to understand because the rosary's hidden blade is deep in his throat, piercing his jugular. Warm, red, liquid splashes on me, but for some odd reason I no longer care.

"What…are…you?" he croaks out with a last effort.

Looking down on his dying body, I answer in the gravest voice possible.

"I used to be known as the Faceless Queen, but since you have taken my mask off… You may now refer to me as Mad May's Rien."

And with those words in front of the bloodied corpse, the bastard was immortalized into the legend of Sherwood Forest seizing her rightful throne as the Queen of May praised by her subjects as the Maid Marian.


	3. into Caster: under the Rabbit Hole

**into Caster: under the Rabbit Hole**

"_Pray to mirror of wonderland, it's a bubble dream.  
>Twinkling of a moment, either candy or tears."<br>-Chimeric Sea 3, Fate/Extra_

Night finally comes to the house where I was sitting. It is quite boring actually, just sitting at home, idly listening trying not to listen to the boom-boom-boom outside. I am quite excited because those sounds mean that there is a parade outside. I hear them quite regularly during New Year's and even Christmas. Now I admit that I quite adore parades; however my parents simply will not let me out. It is simply unfair. It was simply unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair!

So I peek at my sister's book. I-It's not interesting at all. Why would a book not have any pictures or conversations? How can a person read something so boring? I want to play, but mother and father have told me to stay. So-

-A white blur is the first thing that my eyes meet. Its red eyes are simply so startling, but the most startling thing is: "Oh dear, oh dear, I will be late for this important date."

It was such a curious sight that I ended up saying so out loud. Yet even though I said so quite loudly, my sister did not even stir. Quite strange, peculiar even. Perhaps she was too absorbed with her book and trying to ignore the parade outside. Mother and Father have said I could not go out; however I'm sure the boom-boom-boom is a parade, a fun parade that they don't want me to see.

It's too unfair!

I look at the hole the rat went through. I'm sure I could fit through it as well.

-As for the rat, well it's close enough to mistaken for a white rabbit so I follow it. I don't follow it because I find a talking white rat extraordinary though. I follow it because that's what happens in stories, and by the end the heroine has grand, glorious adventures. However, by following this white "rabbit," I have disobeyed my parents and my sister who is so absorbed in ignoring the parade. I know this is bad. I know this is something I shouldn't do.

So why?

Because Alice is lonely.

Alice wants to play.

So I follow that white "rabbit," and like the heroine of that story down I go down the rabbit hole.

* * *

><p>A dizzying fall shortly follows. An ear-wrenching sound abruptly stops my fall. I have never known that there was such a hole in this house. It must have been the white "rabbit," who caused such a hole and such a sound; after all his ability to talk was definitely remarkable so it wouldn't be surprising if he was capable of some sort of magic. Despite the harsh sound, I land surprisingly softly, which turns my mind to Dinah. Dinah has been getting quite skinny these past months.<p>

"Must be from the rationing," I quietly say to myself

I do not quite understand what rationing is. Mabel kept saying that Sandra Brown has lost so much weight. She was the largest one in the class but when she left for the countryside she was the skinniest. It's a miracle you know, this rationing.

And that is when it hits me. It's dark. Fear starts to grip me.

I'm scared. I am really scared.

I had forgotten how scared I am of the dark because of the continuous parade outside; the lights that came out before the boom-boom-boom were so pretty that I had forgotten this fear that now grips me.

"Come on Alice," I tell myself quite firmly. "Quite enough of that."

I tell myself to stop in the manner Ms. Robinson would most likely scold me. It doesn't work. The more I scold myself the more I cower; my legs give in and I really want to cry even if there is a parade outside.

Clink.

A clear bell-like sound rings through the darkness. A pretty sound comes from the ground in front of me. So I reach down in wonder and pick up the object that has made the sound. It's hard and cold - probably made from glass, but the top part is squishy like a hard dried-up sponge. Perhaps it's a cork?

Oh, I know what it was now! I feel around the glass for a label and yes, there is a label, so quickly I uncork the bottle and take what my father calls a swig. It's everything I thought it'd taste like: cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast, all those flavors wash through my mouth. With a satisfied smile planted onto my mouth I say to myself:

"I knew it, what else would the label have said other than…"

Drink me.

So I was not shaken up to find myself feeling peculiar, a word that I don't understand so it was the perfect word to explain exactly what I was feeling at that moment for I was no longer frightened. Now without the shackles of fear binding me I just run.

* * *

><p>I am quite impressed to find that there was a metal grille ahead. That is why I have shrunken. At the time I did not know there was a grille ahead, which makes shrinking beforehand all the more impressive. So with my chest puffed up I stride through the grille and…<p>

-it's truly revolting, that's what my sister said when she passed a ragged man on the street. This is the same, exactly the same. Where could I be? What place on this Earth could smell so badly? It's disgusting, so very disgusting, but I remember those red eyes that sparkled like rubies. That's right: there's a parade outside, a fun, dizzying, giddy extravagant party. I want to go there. I want to go to a fun place; that's why I followed the White "Rabbit." That's why I'm continuing to follow the White "Rabbit" through this stinky place. So drawing a deep breath I jump into that stagnant water even if it smells funny.

* * *

><p>"Hey, she smells, don't poke her like that." An odd voice.<p>

"How would you know? You're extinct!"

The squabbling continues but I don't understand the light in front of me. I am so sure I am still in that deep dark place.

"Hey, all of you, she's still alive." A squeaky voice starts to wake me up, but-

-a rush of feathers, it tastes disgusting. I can't believe the rankness of the taste, considering the beauty of those feathers. Each feather is so majestic that they make the wings look like twin crowns fit for the king of the sky.

"Our master has summoned us. Leave this girl and go." The eagle's deep voice compels even me.

And with that, he takes off, his claws digging into my face. Surprisingly it does not hurt as much as it should.

"Bearable," I tell myself. "Quite bearable Alice, so don't cry. You're close to the parade."

Bearable was another word I have memorized. I assume it means "can be done by a bear," because the word is a compound word made of the words "bear," and "able."

"Oh, I think she's awake." The extinct creature's voice is really funny.

"Lass, what's your name?" The Lory sounded quite Scottish.

"Why, it's Alice. Pardon me, but where's the parade?"

The Lory looked at the Mouse who looked at the Dodo as if asking, "What parade?"

"The thing that makes all the boom-boom sounds at night above the city? Surely you must all know!" I start to implore them but only receive blank stares and slowly they congregate. They discuss in hushed tones amongst themselves. I try to listen in but all I can catch are mere snatches and whispers.

"Do you…arts?"

"Parade…mean…dead."

"Report…Duchess."

The whispers and voices get louder and louder until it finally reaches a crescendo and then…

A nod, they all reach an agreement, and finally with a flourish all of them turn to face me.

"It was very nice to meet you, er-" starts the Dodo.

"Allison? Alicia?" The Lory supplies some options.

"What this extinct creature is trying to say is that it was nice meeting you Andrea, but we must leave. Our Duchess awaits glorious battle."

"Shush, that's a secret." The Dodo hits the head of the Mouse to keep it silent.

"Don't hit my head you bird brain, I need it and you aren't the Queen of Hearts."

A quite interesting sound clears my head as the Lory hits both the Dodo and Mouse with its wing.

"Quite sorry for taking your time Angel, but we have to go now," it remarks in my general direction, and with a creature in each hand it starts to take off.

"But wait! Lory, how do I get to the parade?" A shrill voice comes from the bottom of lungs.

"I don't know who you are, girl, but I do not understand why a person like you could pray for the White Knight of the Eclipse Princess of Black Blood to attend this cadenza. Either way we're all doomed you know. Even you can hear that the sky is falling and you can see the Clock Tower is burning. Do not wish for more ominous events, little girl." And with that the Lory leaves me alone.

So here I am again at the opening of a sewer. Yet I steel my heart, though not actually steel my heart because hearts are not steel and I do not steel my heart because I need my heart. Mr. Keating said if one does not have a heart, she will die in three seconds. No matter what the Lory has said about terror and what not, a parade is a parade. The Lory has even said that a princess will be there. A parade is after all a parade: nothing more, nothing less. I want to attend. I have already disobeyed my parents so I can't stop now, not now.

* * *

><p>The boom-boom-boom, it's getting a bit louder now, just a little. The light, too, it's getting a bit brighter now, just a little. I can see it now. I'm moving, getting somewhat closer with each step.<p>

"Hey girl."

A voice seeps through the deep London fog. It curls like a snake, twisting, spiraling, waiting for the time to strike. It smells quite funny, but I remember that smell. One time I walked into my parent's room the smell was exactly the same which is strange because it is also like the smell when my parents once took me to an Oriental restaurant. But now, of all-places it is coming from a lump of clothes on the pavement. Papa and Mama once told me that I should never talk to strangers. I have already disobeyed them once so I quickly walk away.

"Hey…girl."

A shudder fills my body, yet I am still compelled to turn around and face this lump of clothes that resembles a caterpillar.

"Hey girl. Where are you headed?" A lazy gruff voice is filled with the scratchy sound of lungs grasping for air.

"The parade, of course," I answer before realizing I should not have spoken at all.

"Ain't no parade in this town, go to Berlin, maybe they're celebrating there." The sickly man starts chuckling at something incomprehensible and then coughs a few more times.

"Mister Caterpillar, sir, are you okay?"

The lump of clothes seems to grin although the thing below the lump of clothes is void of expression.

"Oh, I'll be fine; I've already had a few hundred years. You know, this hookah is actually older than you are missy."

That's impossible.

"It's written all over your face, you don't believe me, do you? Well, I think you should be on your way. After all you have a long night."

"Well, sir, if you can tell me where the parade might be, it'll be a shorter night for me after all."

Again the man laughs. "I'm sure I guess I could, and I suppose I could call 'that' a parade."

My face lights up at the mention the parade.

"But are you ready? Are you sure little girl? Even if I have told you what this truly is?" I steady myself pondering that question.

"My sister and Dinah will be waiting for me. Nevertheless I'm sure there will be happier times ahead, so I'm not worried at all."

The caterpillar simply looks at me.

"I guess that's the difference between you and us then. Go then; future Master of the Moon, the Duchess's house is that way. You'll find a path to the parade there." A finger points the way through a dark cobbled street where a light defines the destination I was told about.

* * *

><p>"Hello? Is there anybody home?"<p>

It's a grand house so my voice echoes through the multitude of rooms visible from the lobby.

"Hello? Hello? The caterpillar sent me here. Are you off to the parade?"

I slink closer and closer to the marble staircase. It's a beautiful creation, a thing of true beauty; at least that's what my mother calls anything better than our imitation marble staircase.

"Why-Why how curious, a walking, talking, touching ghost." A voice spirals lazily though the air.

The only way to describe the cat is eerie. There is nothing human about him. Of course he isn't human because he is a cat, but the Lory, the Eaglet, and the Mouse all have had a sense of humanity about them as if their nature had been defiled by the creature known as man. However with this eagerly grinning cat, there is nothing of that sort. It's completely natural and artificial at the same time. It's a contradiction beyond my understanding, which is why I have no idea how to respond.

"Oh don't mind him, it's a Cheshire cat" says a soothing voice, one that reminds me of the mother whom I disobeyed.

And as if brought in by the wind a matron-like lady stands right in the middle of the lobby. It's a shame. She has such a pretty pepper-grey dress it seems such a shame to cover it with one of those jackets that makes my father say, "Those poor sons of a bitch," whenever he sees them. Usually the men would wear their accompanying goggles on their head, but she has hers hanging about her neck as if it were a rosary and she doesn't seem to have a cap on at all. Her hair is in a tight bun.

"I didn't know that Cheshire cats always ginned; in fact, I didn't know that cats _could _grin."

"You don't know much," said the lady offhandedly, as if she is used to giving such remarks, "-and that's a fact."

I can't believe someone would say that to me because I even know that the Earth takes twenty-four hours to rotate on its axis. That's something that Mabel didn't even know.

"Don't say anything," the always grinning Cheshire cat advises. "This is the Duchess you are talking to."

Duchess? The only Duchess I know is the Duchess of York, and she's a plump old lady from next door who is quite batty. She thinks that Dinah is Napoleon come to marry her. I keep telling her that Dinah is a cat and that Napoleon died, yet she doesn't believe me. She keeps believing that one day her short knight will come riding in the middle of London with guns a blazing to rescue her from her mundane life. My mother once told me that old lady _was_ Cinderella Syndrome. I never knew Cinderella had a last name so I was rather surprised, as surprised as I am to see that this Duchess has just brought out a croquet club.

"Are you perhaps going out to play croquet this night?"

That is the only rational explanation for why she has that club. But who would go out to play croquet at this time of night? Unless she's going to the parade that I am headed towards as well. That would be the only place that one could play croquet. Unless the King and Queen themselves invited her to Buckingham Palace. That would be another story.

"Hm, play croquet." She considers the thought, then breaks out in laughter, "Yes, you could say it like that. In my very own way I am going to out to play a game of croquet. It's funny isn't it? I've never once thought of playing croquet with this."

Her gaze is incredibly wistful.

"I've only looked at this a tool of death, as a way to enforce sealing designations, and here you come swaggering in, a little girl without a name, a little girl who doesn't even know what a Cheshire cat is, and you ask me if I'm playing croquet. It's funny, it's so funny, just too funny that I think tonight might actually be comedy."

"So…" My voice is timid. She's a strange one this Duchess, but not as batty as the Duchess of York next door. "You're not going to the parade?"

She looks at me with eyes that I only have seen once in my life. Mother has worn them; she has had them when learning that Grandmother had gone to a better place. It's a look of dread, a plea to the world that she doesn't have to do what she is going to do. I don't understand that look, but I do understand the meaning behind it.

"No." Her voice as heavy as tea set that mother prized; the same set that I broke. "I'm going to the parade tonight. In fact, I'm going to play croquet with the Queen of Hearts tonight."

She merely states a fact. She knows the conclusion of their encounter already. I don't know what that means. I don't understand why sad things would happen during a parade. A parade is full of happy things, like blowing the bubbles from your bath, and sleeping in listening to the boom-boom-boom outside your window, and having Dinah in your hands. No one should feel sad when there's a parade. So all I can offer her is this.

"Are you sure?" She motions to the object in my outstretched hand.

"Happy times are times when Mother is brushing my hair. After she brushes it she ties a ribbon around it. I can't give you happiness but I can share whatever happiness I have with you."

"Do you understand what you are giving me?"

Then even the ever-grinning Cheshire cat's voice seems to grow grimmer. "You do understand what you are giving her."

"Yes, my ribbon, but mother and that balding man with the stiff collar told me that I need to help those less fortunate than myself."

The tension blows away as the Duchess roars in a laughter that comes from her belly.

"Less fortunate? You think I'm less fortunate than you?"

I only can nod.

"Well then, girl. I'll go show you which one is less fortunate."

And with a grin that isn't quite as wide but twice as intense as the Cheshire cat's, she walks out to door and toward the parade. I have totally forgotten to ask her about the parade and I am in a real pickle since the Cheshire cat is also turning around to leave.

"Puss, would you tell me which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," purrs the Cat.

"I want to get to the parade-" I try to say before I am interrupted.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat

"- so long as I get to that parade." I add by way of explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to get there. I mean here is already there." A little abrupt, but the Cheshire seems to answer my question in the most cryptic of ways.

"But Mr. Puss, this isn't the parade at all."

"Well then, girl, are you also going to play croquet with the Queen tonight?"

"Well the Duchess did say that was where she was going and that a parade was there, but I haven't been invited yet."

"You'll see me there," said the Cat, and vanished.

I was not too surprised since things disappear all the time. When you turn around you can find your favorite hairbrush is gone or the bell that Dinah loves so much is no longer around her neck. However, this Cat simply disappears while I am looking at it and I am in bemusement looking at the place where it had been, the Cat suddenly appeared again.

"By-the-bye, what am I today?" asked the Cat. "I had nearly forgotten to ask."

That doesn't make any sense. I have no idea why the Cat is asking such a question.

"You're a Cheshire cat," I quietly say, as if again talking to the Duchess of York living next door.

"Ah, a suitable shape for today then."

I wait for a little, half expecting to see the Puss again, but it does not appear. I turn back to the way I have entered before realizing that I was probably not getting that ribbon back. Mother will be angry, but I'm sure she will understand. She understood when I gave my rosary to the Duchess of York because she claimed it would protect her from the grips of that demon known as Lord Nelson.

"Did you say Cheshire Cat or White Rat?" A voice that seems to laugh not only at me, but at the world, itself rings through the foggy night sky.

"I said Cheshire Cat," I reply, "and I wish you wouldn't appear and vanish so suddenly."

"It's not my choice. I only appear when people want me to appear. I am what I am because the world demands it, nothing more, nothing less."

And again the sour-puss begins to fade fulsomely, beginning at the tail and ending at the grin. And that's when I think to myself,

"It's not happy at all, is it?"

-I mutter to myself as I walk the narrow cobbled path.

* * *

><p>They look at me as if I am some sort of freak.<p>

"NO ROOM, NO ROOM."

Three men sit around a table right on the street without a care in the world. I wonder why a carriage hasn't run them over yet, but that would be impolite to ask. Once, Father scolded me when I told Sandra that her carriage was trite. I don't think I can forget that scolding since it was oh-so-fierce.

"There's plenty of room, especially in this armchair," I say as I let the armchair embrace me. I'm so comfortable that I don't even wonder why there is an armchair outside in this fog amidst the boom-boom-boom.

"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited." His beady eyes remind me of a March-Hare I once have watched die as my father was hunting. I believe that I wouldn't eat it and had cried for days wondering if that was what would happen if I were also shot.

"Well it wasn't very civil of you to not offer me a seat," I try to retort. However everyone else on the table decides to completely ignore me.

"Why is a raven like this writing desk?" says the man in the middle with the stupid top hat with a price tag still hanging off the side while pointing to the writing desk I didn't notice that was next to him.

Ah, I know this. I remember this riddle; my grandmother had once told me that her mother had told her the answer to this riddle that had been posed by my grandmother's mother's friend.

"Why is the butter two days old?" came a squeaky voice, a voice so squeaky that I mistook it for that of a dormouse.

"I don't know, ask the grocer," offhandedly stated the man I decided would be called the March-Hare.

"The grocer wasn't there when we took it, remember, rabbit brain?" The hat man clicks his watch impatiently.

"Well, rabbit brains were a better idea than yours, hat breath. I mean who'd've think of creating the perfect hat to reach the Root? Don't you agree, girl?"

I open my mouth but I'm not sure what I should say so the words just spill from my mouth: "You shouldn't steal."

"Shouldn't steal?" They answer in unison.

"Girl," starts the Hatter who I now think is quite mad, "look around us. The sky is on fire and London Bridge is falling down! London Bridge is falling down! Falling down, my fair lady!"

The man who I am going to call Dormouse yawns and says "You're mad you stupid hat freak. It's not London Bridge. It's the Clock Tower that's falling down."

The March-Hare decides to interject as well with a, "You're mad, I'm mad, we're all mad here. Why else would we be having a tea party in the middle of this road in a place like this?"

"SHHHHHHHHH, It'll hear you." The Dormouse and the Mad Hatter seem very agitated.

"Who?" I ask and stop thinking about the riddle they all seem to have forgotten.

The March-Hare cups his hand around his mouth, "It."

"It, It, It, It." They whisper amongst each other like those monks in a church that my sister seems to hate.

"What is it?" I ask, trying not to be shaken by their chanting.

"It is It," replies the Hatter.

"We're standing on It," continues the Dormouse.

"It's above us," ends the March-Hare.

"That simply does not make any sense." I try to act as standoffish as I can be.

"EXACTLY!" They all scream at unison but quickly quiet down.

"Because, if it doesn't make sense-" The Hatter stops, and with his finger, draws a line across his neck.

"Well, I don't understand any of that. Can you please just direct me to the parade?" I really am uncomfortable here.

"Girl, you don't go to parades, parades come to you." The Dormouse is quite adamant about that.

"Well, I can't stand being among thieves and mad people! My father calls you the scum of society and my mother always scolds me when I have been playing in the mud! So I have to leave. This was the worst and most worthless tea party I've ever attended." And with that I storm away from this pond scum.

"Well, that's better than what we're usually called, now isn't it?" I can still hear the Hatter.

"The Dormouse is still asleep. Does he really think he can reach the Root through his dreams?" What I said probably hasn't even registered for the March-Hare.

"We're Magi after all. The so-called unrewarded colonists." The Hatter seems to start wallowing in self-pity.

Feeling slightly bad I stop and turn around to face the peculiar table on the street.

"For your information Poe wrote on both ravens and writing desks!" With that I leave, though not before I hear the March-Hare's befuddled voice.

"Who's Poe? I always thought it was Blackmore who wrote on both?"

* * *

><p>I do not understand why there is a door in the middle of the street just after I have left the table of that ridiculous tea party. But from the door I can hear it, the boom-boom-boom that I heard from my window-side. So, on my tip-toes I reach for the handle and pull it open and what I find…<p>

-is a world of flames dancing.

At first it reminded me of those fire-eaters who dance with their torches, spinning their flames, but those flames are contained and playful; these are fierce and savage, as if they want to consume the very world itself.

"Can you play croquet?"

I thought my heart would completely stop. It's a frightening sight. I don't understand what is in front of me. Her frilly red dress completely matches those shockingly scarlet gloves. But why does she have the same red all over her face? I don't know what to say. I'm sure this isn't the parade I wanted to attend. I try to open my mouth to say something, anything, but no sound comes out.

"Then…OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

A glint of silver amongst the red, but it never reaches where she has aimed it since she is completely thrown back. No, she didn't aim at all. I was slashed haphazardly, yet it still reached for my neck as if the hand guiding it would not, could not target anywhere else.

I drop to my knees and start to cry. I don't know why I have started to cry. Is it because I am so happy because I was saved? Or was it because I remembered my father chopping the neck of a chicken and watching all that red come out?

"Don't worry girl," comes a voice from nothingness and beside me appears the Cheshire cat like the way needle in a haystack simply just appears.

Here he is again with a gigantic grin on its face. It's definitely not a smile. There's nothing happy about it at all. It is as if people want it to be happy so a grin is plastered onto its face. It almost looks like a clown and that thought is so sad that I stop crying.

"Before you go, girl, you should gaze at the reality of this world." His voice is completely solemn.

I end up facing a world that is truly on fire. Things are falling from the sky and making a boom-boom-boom. This isn't a parade at all. It's something that I've never seen before and amidst the chaos and the light there she is.

Laughing amongst all the carnage, the way I do when I squeal with delight, she stands there all covered in red.

"The Queen of Hearts," a voice which I have heard before asserts the name I don't understand.

"Cousin, what a night! What a night for destruction! Can you see the German bombs burning the world and creating a curtain of beautiful, beautiful red? I no longer have to paint the roses anymore. They can do it for me."

"You're sick. Did you know that?" The disgust in the Duchess' voice makes no sense.

The Queen of Hearts stops sneering at the sky and gazes down at the Duchess as if she were a cockroach.

"Dog of the Association. Don't get me started on you, dear cousin." She spits the word cousin as if it were a curse.

The Duchess says nothing, she merely wags her finger right in the Scarlet Queen's face, and behind her comes a gigantic creature.

I have seen it in books before. It has the body of a lion and the head of an eagle. I think it is called a Sphinx.

"Girl, it's called a Gryphon." The cat is adamant in his need to prove me wrong.

The Gryphon shrieks and rushes head-first into the blob of red.

The result is anti-climactic, unlike the chicken I saw die. The head just rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls.

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD."

But even with the head gone, the body continues to move towards the Queen of Hearts, but now as it no longer has a head, she looks at it distastefully and bats it out of the way.

"Reinforcement and Alteration are all this woman was good for." The Cheshire cat's remark seems almost snide.

I almost didn't notice it but in the Queen of Hearts hand is a scepter. Of course Alice, a queen would have a scepter. I was so blind as to not see such an obvious thing. A red diamond is on top of the scepter. It's a gigantic rock that must have cost a lot. Mother's diamond ring cost Father a year of work. At least that's what Mother says.

"You killed my familiar." The Duchess' voice is uncharacteristically void with emotion.

"It's not my fault, but now that distraction is dead. OFF WITH YOUR HEAD." The Queen screeches as she prepares to engage the Duchess, who has not moved.

"It's not my fault. You've always said that. Last time I let you go because you said that. But I realized it is your fault."

It's fast.

In an instant two "balls" are produced out of thin air and the croquet club connects sending them in the Queen's direction.

"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS."

It doesn't make any sense. Balls don't have heads so why does the Queen say that with such pleasure?

Something is rolling towards me. I am lost gazing at it.

"It's a hedgehog head," The Cat purrs indifferently.

I know. I know it is a hedgehog head, but it's so still that it resembles one of my dolls.

"Is this all you can fight with dear cousin. FAMILARS? Is your mystic code so weak that you can only stand and shoot me with these things, that don't even have one magic circuit?" The Queen of Hearts kicks one of the hedgehog corpses away.

"You may not have chosen to have beheading as your Origin, but you didn't despise it. You embraced it all the while saying that it wasn't your fault. Remember all those pig heads? The village went starving that year all for your sake."

Ten more hedgehogs appear out of thin air again and again the Duchess completely loses control, hitting them at the Queen in blind rage.

"Remember Susan? The girl who found her dog without its head? I knew it was you but I didn't say anything."

"OFF WITH ITS HEAD"

"Remember the cat of the man next door? Yea, when they found the body without a head I almost told your mother and father; however, I put my faith in you and believed it was the man's crazy dog."

"OFF WITH ITS HEAD."

"But that's enough. Why did you do it?"

The Duchess doesn't get a reply; all the queen is compelled to do is to cut the heads off the hedgehogs.

"LISTEN TO ME YOU MURDERESS!"

Three in the air. I know what they are. They aren't just hedgehogs. I talked to them. They talked to me, one even clawed my face.

But-

"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS."

-quickly as the hedgehogs before them, their necks become the top of their bodies.

"Why," I start at the Cheshire Cat who is still smiling. "Why is she called the Queen of Hearts when she beheads things?"

"Exactly," he says, disinterested, and turns back to watch the Duchess and the Queen. "All you need to do is print this scene into your soul, because this is your reality."

So slowly I again turn to what is happening right in front of me.

"You killed my Gryphon with Alteration. You kicked my hedgehogs with Reinforcement. Even my three true familiars were destroyed by your disgusting Origin."

"Yes. So now it's fine, dear cousin, OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

The Queen dashes in to claim her final trophy and the Duchess just gives up. I…

"One last thing," The Duchess' face is to the ground. "Did you feel anything? When you beheaded your daughter?"

"Of course I did. I only behead what I love and I love EVERYTHING."

"Yes, that's enough then."

A sliver slash and everything is over.

They're standing there; the Queen and the Duchess. Something's wrong.

"She still has her head girl," the Cheshire annoyingly supplies it to me.

The Queen's scepter tip, now a blade, is stuck inside a mock-turtle shell.

"How can you behead something that has its head in a shell?" the Cheshire asks no one in particular.

"Die." The duchess' only word is said as a curse, the most primordial curse there is.

The fur balls all rise - no, they aren't made of fur, they're spikes ready to pierce the one who stole their heads.

"Smart," Cheshire praises the Duchess, "She placed the brain of her familiars below their necks so if they were beheaded the connection would not be cut."

And from all sides the Queen of Hearts is turned into a crimson pincushion.

"The Gryphon was just an Eaglet covered with pepper. You died the moment you dared to kick him. The familiars are trained to smell that pepper because they themselves have that pepper on themselves. Yes I gave my familiars four nostrils, the other two are on the back. They cannot be seen from far away."

Hate fills the eyes of the heartless Queen of Hearts.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

The Duchess clicks her fingers and right in front of my eyes the Beheading Queen bursts into flames.

"And you beheaded his daughter didn't you?" is her only reply.

She turns away and heads towards me.

"You shouldn't have seen that."

I nod, uncertain of what to do or say. I am a stranger in this place. I don't know what has happened or why they were fighting, but the Duchess is scary. The Duchess can be really scary.

"Here I forgot to give you this back," she holds out the light blue ribbon I gave her, but as soon as I reach for it-

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

The Queen, now truly as red as her garments and still burning in the middle of the street, tries one last time to take the Duchess as a trophy.

The Cheshire Cat purrs strangely and I know I have to do something.

It is like a switch in my body that was always there has flipped on.

It's hot. My body is really hot.

It's numb. It's so numb that I cannot feel anything else other than this heat.

So I need to let it go.

Let it go.

So a white light blinds everything-

-and where the Queen of Hearts has stood before; only dark ashes exist.

"Quite," says the Cheshire Cat unremarkable "My, that was quite the Dragon Skillet. I say that should qualify you."

Hah? What did he say? I do not understand. I want to go home to Dinah. I have disobeyed my parents because I wanted to go to a parade filled with happy things and now I am here and have only seen useless and sad things.

"Soon," the Cheshire keeps purring.

The Duchess keeps gazing at the ashes of her cousin.

"It's done." She's shocked, sad even. She must have thought that she'd die with the Queen of Hearts.

Step…

I can… something.

"You. Is it satisfied now you've had your revenge?"

There he is, the Caterpillar. Just that he doesn't look like a caterpillar at all. He's actually quite slim, at least slimmer than my father. I only knew he was the Caterpillar because of the same dirty trench coat he was wearing.

The Duchess is shocked. "It was your revenge as well wasn't it? She's the one who killed your daughter, your heir."

"And she was the one who gave me that heir. I'm sure my daughter would be sad to know I killed her mother." The man who no longer looks like a caterpillar's eyes are lost.

"Very soon," Cheshire keeps purring.

"I…" The Duchess is lost for words.

"You're an Enforcer. She had a Sealing Designation. That's enough. It's not your fault about what happened."

"'It's not your fault' I really do despise those four words."

"Now." Cheshire's voice rings and cuts through the conversation.

I can hear it.

Even among the boom-boom-boom I can hear it.

It's like a train whistle telling me to board.

The Duchess abruptly reaches out to grab my hand for some reason I do not know. My hand reaches out to take the ribbon that I have entrusted her with.

A white light comes, brighter than the one that I expelled.

"You're ready," the Cheshire's voice is faint and mocking. "Fight for the chance to change the world into your Wonderland, my dear Alice."

That ruthless, brilliant, overwhelming white light completely envelops my entire being.

-I just don't want to be lonely…


	4. into Berserker: last

**into Berserker: last**

"_Life and death, one cannot exist without the other.  
>The same holds true for friends and rivals as well.<br>However does this eternal struggle hold any meaning?"  
>-Chimeric Sea 6, FateExtra_

A gust of winds sweeps through the plains sending ripples through what could only be described as a sea of grass yet the world seems motionless as step by step she, holding onto all her meager possessions, marches in the direction I am facing. I don't say anything to stop her even if every fiber of my body tells me to. I don't say anything because I shouldn't say anything. Saying anything will destroy both our futures, no matter how miserable they already seem. So I'll return, I return to this place because if my end is a miserable future that I have shackled myself to, then this past will be the only thing I truly have. So without regret or bitterness I'll brand this scene into my heart and onto my soul as my fate.

So I can't stop here.

Not here, under this soot-filled sky where an insurmountable gate is right in front of me, guarded by a demon. Of course, he could only be a demon; one only needs to glimpse the scenery that I did not notice beforehand.

Red.

This hill I have fallen atop of is made out of my fellow soldiers. I can even make out familiar faces that I have supped with. Fear grips my stomach, disgust threatens to overwhelm me, and therefore my mind is overridden but not enough so that I cannot dull the fear of an almost world-reverberating thud right next to me. The place a headless corpse was occupying is taken over by an assortment of limbs too crushed to identify.

Ahhh…

-it's scary, it's really scary.

This is absolutely terrifying.

Is this the end?

Dying like this.

Completely suffocating on a mountain of bodies?

I don't want that. Such an end is too miserable, even for someone like me. That's why even when I was blown back with the force of an explosion I held on so firmly to my broken spear.

Thud, the sound is continuous-

Thud, every second that passes, another sack of meat is added to this mountain of death. It's unbearable; it's just so unbearable that...

-without my permission the world becomes upright. It seems that with the last vestiges of any energy circulating my body I stood up. I stood up because dying like this is just so unbearably pathetic. Yet the moment I stood up my body roars at me to fall back.

Every fiber of my body tells me to do so. Why?

Footsteps that get louder and louder send my brain into haywire. It's a looming presence that doesn't ask my body to "fight or fly," it merely commands my body to fall down and my mind to die.

Footsteps… and…

-a cut that could only be called a ray of light went straight at my head. It was so fast that I wasn't even allowed any time to dodge. No, it wasn't that I wasn't allowed to dodge but because I wasn't even allotted any time to defend myself; therefore, this blood soaked field is the final scene my eyes will lay upon.

Ahhh… it seems that plain is a destination I can never return to…

* * *

><p>The blood red sky confirms that this place is hell, so then this gigantic gate has to be the gateway to the outside, or is it merely a portal into a deeper hell?<p>

It doesn't matter because no one can pass through that gate while that sort of dog is guarding it. Once upon a time I heard a story from a traveler about a dog which guards the gates of hell. The dog right in front of me definitely resembles said dog. I haven't felt this kind of despair since that day. The emotions and the situation might be different but the sensation is exactly the same, making my blood which was feebly trudging through my veins now feels like molten metal; searing everything until I finally acknowledge it.

Death, this is a world covered in death.

Proof? Merely look at the mounds, colored black and brown from the leather, near the gate. They, like me, were mere fodder for this demon, but that doesn't matter anymore because it hurts. I'm sure I look like some kind of monster. Yet even with this cursed blood flowing though my veins there is no doubt who the true demon is.

It's not an unfamiliar story these days. A tyrant rose among the people; an evil, cruel tyrant according to us, but a benevolent leader according to himself. Either way, it doesn't matter because no matter who is good and who is evil there still exists a difference in opinion which will lead to a disagreement and if two powerful people disagree… well, this is the result isn't it?

Two gigantic armies clash and one will win, eventually. That's the theory anyway. As for the application, well it's this hell. That isn't much of a change from before so essentially, I'm fine. I'm fine even if I'm squiring on the ground cursing my ancestors; yes, that hasn't changed at all. Escaping, running, throwing my identity away, what were they for? I don't remember my exact feelings at that time anymore.

DIE

But I still understand the intent so I haven't lost everything. If so, what are my goals? What do I want to accomplish? I have nothing as normal as that. So why am I here? Why did I volunteer to become part of this sacrificial vanguard? I remember those bodies with their heads twisted off like screws asking me "Do you want to die?"

No, I don't want to die.

Then why am I here? Why am I squirming on the ground completely in pain amidst this crimson world facing a demon? I don't want to kill but I don't want to die either, so…

"Better someone else other than you, son."

My blood, molten just a second ago glaciates. Why did his voice come into my head? Cutting all ties means leaving him, of all people, behind.

"Quiet," with great effort I stop my impulse.

I don't need it. I don't need him.

I'll follow my orders. I'll open the gate so the rest of the army can take the victory. I'll need to anyway if I don't want to die.

So, I leave my static death behind because it is my despair. I nod to myself and stand up. There is no longer any pain in my body. It's just that my humanity is eroding. I can only tell that I am slowing moving towards the gate. It's unnatural; the air is so thick with a hanging mist of blood. This truly is just a land of death and the equivalent of its gatekeeper looms over me. His duty is to eliminate any intruders; he is a gatekeeper and at the same time an executioner. He is the strongest general and an "enemy which must be defeated." So it would be natural that the moment I approach him I realize I cannot defeat him.

"You are the last one." Even if he states it like a fact his hostility expands. "It's my job to kill anyone that tries to go forth here."

I lick my lips in anticipation, "But I haven't taken a step forward."

"But you will," his voice is flat and all-knowing.

He's right. Retreating means becoming a brick for that wall of bodies. Yet, I don't feel alive at all. There's no way I can kill him. My head will be cleaved off the moment I cross any blade with him so I need to do something else; something that I've hated about myself since the day I was born. I will use everything and anything to find a way to survive. There is only one way out of this. I turn around so my back is left unguarded.

"You are the final one. Show me what a mere human can do."

That remark really annoys me, making me clench my jaw and grip the short sword I found on a mere corpse with the tightest fist I can manage.

"In no way…"

I pivot, putting all my power into that one swing.

"-am I a human!"

With all my power I smash the short sword into the unguarded chest of the demon.

"I see you armed yourself. Insignificant as it may be, I will regard it as hostile action."

* * *

><p>He's arrogant, that should be his weakness; however, when a person is like him, a weakness like that means nothing. His parry which flicks my own weapon back towards me is testament to that.<p>

So I need to create an opening, it doesn't matter how I create that opening I just…so…

Thump…

The halberd quickly comes to claim my head.

Ignoring my own fear at the incoming threat, I swing the short sword catching the edge of the halberd. It's really heavy, so heavy that I doubt I can hold it for long. Yet…

Which of us surprised?

-I don't care.

What is the heat surrounding me growing inside and pervading my body each second?

-I don't care.

What is this curse which breaks my humanity to give me a chance of survival?

-I don't care.

This is merely an overdrive that leads to death or a torturous sleep. My body goes beyond godspeed. My blades roar like thunder. Every time I parry a blow my mind reads the next attack and my body responds by countering, but I can only manage to defend. The only attack allowed for me was the first; the rest of my time is spent defending against nimble flurries of blows thought to be impossible by a halberd. I've already blocked twenty fatal attacks.

Pain starts to grip my limbs, stopping time.

My mind cannot keep up with this body.

My mind cannot cope with this heat rushing from the center of my being.

That's why I haven't unleashed it yet. This may be an overdrive that leads to death, but the only alternative to this is death itself. I may be risking my life, but I am not surrendering my life for a chance to win. I am still human enough to treasure my own life, but this situation is not perfect. For some reason that I cannot control he is still manifold stronger than I am.

But I can manage.

My vision starts to flicker red with each blow I deflect, I can't bear it.

My mind and flesh are being scrapped off and my humanity is surely eroding, I definitely cannot bear it.

My mind screams with each of his earth-shaking blows, and death is the only conclusion that I can read. It's a mere thirty steps away.

Surprisingly though, there is no fear.

All I have is the inhuman joy of being able to fight and kill another existence. Yes, I start to hunger at such a disgusting wish. I start to no longer care about the mound of bodies just below me. I even start to disregard my own choice to live. Why did I leave that household again?

It doesn't matter.

He's trying to kill me.

I'm trying to kill him.

He won't use another function of his fabled weapon since I am too close to him; therefore, I have a chance to finally taste the blood I denied myself for so long. So…

-then I should move faster.

I, allowing the corruption to erode my humanity more completely, step to a higher gear. This sense of morality is annoying. I hate myself for thinking because the only thing on my mind is to kill that man.

Surrender.

Give in to it.

Let your soul be cast into that sea of flames.

KILL.

My body instinctively jumps back no matter how much my mind wants to keep moving forward to rip his heart out. It jumps back because if I didn't… that halberd would have been driven into my arm. No matter how far gone I am, self-preservation is my priority.

I try to catch my breath, but every part of me is on fire. It feels like the heat inside of me is coming out from my pores. I'm sure if someone strained their eyes they could see the aura of redness around me.

With a mundane sword in hand I merely stare at my death. I jumped ten meters back. Even he will need to take two steps to get able to hit me. With this buffer between us I can relax and I get my breath back, in time.

Crick…

I didn't notice it, did I? Even if I can match him… His weapon is so much superior to mine. Even if it is still made by man, it was made with him especially in mind. So it's a miracle that this sword didn't shatter in the first exchange of blows.

* * *

><p>The roaring wind sweeps up the remains of that short sword and even the hilt is nothing anymore. The last vestiges of the sword that meant nothing to me is now dust in the wind, but I don't care. If it's a miracle which has brought me this far, then all I need is another miracle to take him down. So long as he doesn't kill me I can counter him. It's just a problem that my arms are losing their strength from defending against the monstrous two handed weapon, but fortunately I am still able to ignore the pain; however, I am unable to defend any more attacks from him. I can't tell what will happen in the next exchange of blows. So I have to find an opening right now and strike with everything I've got before he notices. But that's impossible, so I need a miracle.<p>

"Impossible. You cannot even touch me like that."

But, he quickly shoots down my desperate idea.

"Why? I'm keeping up with you."

"How can you say that knowing your situation? No, you're charging ahead with this plan because you have nothing else. Your mind and body are at their limits and you do not even have a weapon. The moment my halberd touches you, your blood will consecrate this ground."

I know. I already know this, but I have no other option. I want to survive. So I have to defeat him right now even if I have nothing in my hands.

"I won't know until I try. I will attack and hope for a miracle, and if that miracle occurs in the next ten seconds then…"

"Boy, why are you praying for a miracle?"

His words contain such a callus meaning. I am sure for a man like him, this is the first time he has spoken with this much feeling, so it clears up my broken and crazy mind. What good is there praying for a miracle? That's right; I'll die if I can't beat him. But I still haven't lost my humanity. I don't want to turn into a demon. But it'd be completely meaningless if I keep my humanity and die. It won't do any good if I die here, but there's no point if I lose my humanity and survive.

"Boy, the rest of the army is fifteen minutes away, do you understand? The moment I defeat you they will be slaughtered, no matter who is in their army."

That's unthinkable. The moment I die the sacrificial vanguard would serve no purpose, we wouldn't even be sacrifices because sacrifices are losses incurred for victory. We will literally become fodder since we would have done nothing. We haven't even tired this demon out.

"Better someone else than yourself." The words which are branded in my mind sound again.

Shut up.

The moment I die the efforts of this gigantic mountain of men become zero as well. I'm not the type of person that would hold my humanity over something as large as this. But if I can defeat him, then we would have served our purpose. All these men volunteered for that purpose; all these men died for that purpose. Me? I didn't. I merely wanted to… something else. But last time I ran away from what was necessary, so I need to make up for it, at least to myself.

"Ha, maybe all this time I just wanted to be saved."

There is a meaning. The more I fight with him the less time the gate and him have to be prepared. But that's only for the moment. He may be a demon but he is also the tyrant's dog. He can be called back at any time. The tyrant would do that if he felt he was cornered by the imposing army coming to lay siege. Once that happens this gate won't fall at all and everyone will die, so all I have to do is keep this dog away from his master.

"You…" His words set the world into motion.

The only possible response is to lower my face.

"You are merely the last." His words that stop a world which can no longer be in motion.

My heart stops; no, my heart already stopped a few seconds ago. My body has started breaking down already. My fate was determined the moment I left the household. My body craves being close to life and my mind is occupied with fantasizing about tearing flesh apart. I don't even know what death is anymore, but I've clung onto life because I didn't want to die. Now… it simply does not matter anymore.

"Heh, so it's not like ridding myself of my humanity here won't accomplish anything,"

This gives me the intellectual alibi I need. There is a meaning if I can destroy the only gatekeeper. Even if I can't break into this gate the imposing army at my heels will, if given the chance. But really all I want is…

-to just let it all go.

I just want to tear him apart.

* * *

><p>I close my eyes and let all the heat rush through my body. The veins which were glaciated start pumping molten metal again. I still haven't found what my true abilities are. I'm going to only let my bloodline dictate my next actions. The instant I let the heat completely overwhelm me the remaining forty percent of my brain is reduced to twenty. I forget names. I forget the names of a lot of times. My name included. Go further.<p>

Find it.

Find it.

Find it.

What I truly am has to be there, the raw power of nature that has cursed my family's name. My bloodline boasts a history over ten generations, so there is no way we don't have the abilities to survive against those that wish to slay us, calling us unnatural, calling us demonic. Ten percent left. Leaving myself behind, I thrust myself into that sea of vermillion…

A cold, metallic orb in the sky, flowers blooming spreading more red poppies until they even invade the unchanging floor.

A flash, it's over in less than a second, the blade that was so slivery that it glinted in the sunlight is severed into two by a defiling red blade which curses itself.

Shadows, a clump of individual shadows, meets a hundred, no, a thousand of slivers made of the same dirty red.

His face is no longer recognizable, his limbs can no longer be called limbs as they would not function in the same way anymore, he's just a sack of meat, but he's alive. Why is he alive?

A body that needs no concrete form to continue; in no way is that vessel a survivable immortality.

Meaning?

* * *

><p>-I suddenly wake up.<p>

This is not one of the memories from my cursed bloodline, but my own. It is my first memory and ironically I believe it is now my last.

A dark night.

No one is home.

Because being alone is scary, I walk out to the garden to see everyone.

The garden of the mansion is very bright. It is surrounded by a deep, deep forest. The trees were very, very black. And they act as a giant curtain.

It is just like a theater. I got excited waiting for the curtain of trees to rise, and for the show to begin.

There's a lot of noise in the distance. Behind the curtain of black trees, everyone is having fun making a lot of noise.

The curtain doesn't rise yet. I couldn't wait and enter the forest.

It's very dark. The forest is deep and the cold light won't reach me.

It is just cold. The cold winter hurts the back of my eyes.

I think someone called my name, and I start walking deeper in.

The veil of trees. Everyone is waiting in the open field together. Cut into pieces, arms and legs all over the place.

An open field that is covered in vermillion and in the middle of the field surrounded by the limbs are two flames.

I don't understand.

Someone goes rushing at the two flames in the center of the field.

I really don't understand.

Because that person no longer has a head.

-I'm only a child so I don't understand

Splat.

It's cold by the time it reaches me.

It's still red though.

The redness that came from that head reaches even me.

I really don't understand because…

-those two flames are the people I call Mom and Dad.

I was only a child so I suppressed what I saw that day unable to accept that my father and mother were monsters. It was the desperate ploy by a child trying to save himself, but now with only ten percent of my mind left what was repressed is now my only thought and…

* * *

><p>-I reach it. I reach the ability of this cursed family. What I am about to do is my limit. My last three attacks.<p>

My enemy readies himself, able to feel my determination.

Who is that?

All the names were blown from my mind, but this enemy is…

KILL.

I don't have time to be thinking. I must kill while I still can.

I have to surpass my enemy in this exchange of blows so I tear at the wounds on my arms and fling the blood with all the strength that I can muster targeting the enemy's neck. The blood, crystallized into two dirty blades that defile the air that it rides, draws an arc so they intersect right on the enemy. The blades draw a beautiful cross. Nothing can come out unscathed after being trapped by such cursed blood. But he wouldn't be a worthy enemy if he couldn't as well. He easily redirects my two dirty red blades that attack from both sides at once. He has escaped the attack. I'm unarmed now; however I only threw those blades as a distraction because the moment he moved to defend himself I charge.

"The same weapon?"

KILL.

Twin blades again come out from the wounds and into opposing hands, but this time I do not throw them. Rather I close in and swing one of the blades.

"Useless, those blades cannot match me."

In one sweeping motion of the halberd my arm holding the left blade is taken off. Just like that, it's gone. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. The pain starts to override the impulse. My mind, already broken and crazy cannot take it and starts to…

KILL

A surprise attack comes from an unexpected direction.

"What?"

If I wasn't fighting a demon like him then I wouldn't need this arrangement.

Another sweeping motion and my other arm is gone, but I'm no longer thinking about that. The only thought that is occupying my mind is to kill. It's beyond an impulse now, it goes beyond an urge. A necessity? No it's much more primal than that. It's not a command either, no one is telling me to kill. So then it must be something that comes from within myself. But that doesn't matter because I no longer have any arms to hold a weapon so…

Time freezes.

We take an instant to assess each other's conditions. My attack ended. Two pairs of blades crystallized from my very own lifeblood; he blocked all my attacks and also cut off my arms. I can't do anything anymore and the enemy is in the perfect position to strike. He only needs to take one step to thrust that halberd into my heart. So there's nothing more. This battle has ended with my death. I am defenseless, and in a second I'll be dead.

But…

Instead of wishing for a miracle, I make a contract with a devil.

The enemy's expression changes from one of victory to one of puzzlement.

My last ten percent disappears.

KILL.

The blood he is standing on that I leaked from our first exchange impales his feet creating an opening by making him unable to deliver the final fatal strike. In that instant my stubs crystalize two gigantic dirty red blades which replace the arms that will never be regained.

"LU BU!"

KILL.

I slash his defense body from both sides.

I remembered it. I say the name of the "enemy that must be defeated," in my final moments. It's a shame because all I want to do is tear apart that body, so I don't know if it's something to regret or be proud of. Anyway I've defeated my enemy. This will be the only time in my life that I will use such an attack so I should rest now. My heart is beating and I should be able to stand back up after I wake. So for now, I'll sleep a bit and wait for the rest of the army to arrive.

* * *

><p>Twin dirty red blades that replaced his arms are swung from both sides. He saw them coming but couldn't do anything to defend himself. He was caught unaware by the swords that sealed his movement. Having cut off two of the enemies limbs, he was blind to any chance of retaliation, and his limbs were occupied for just the briefest of moments. He falls on his back even if this attack isn't fatal. His ribs are been sliced through so he groans in pain. There was no impact; rather it was like cutting butter. He's only alive because of that damn magus his master decided to hire. If one truly wanted to end his life for sure they would have to stab his heart then dice him up. He'll be carried in and healed in ten minutes, a ridiculously short amount of time. But conversely, the gate will be unguarded for ten minutes.<p>

"You were strong because you were the last, boy."

He calls out to the figure lying on the ground next to that pair of severed limbs.

His wounds are definitely fatal but with a body like his, it should be easy for him to stand up and stab the heart.

"No, that's wrong. You were the last because you were strong."

He talks between ragged breaths. The match is decided. Accepting his impending death, he calls out.

"End this battle. You have earned the right to end the life of the greatest general that ever lived."

There is no reply.

"Boy?"

He turns his head. He looks at the boy lying right next to him. There's no one there. The boy's heart is beating, and he is still breathing. His eyes are staring up at the ceiling but that's all there is. His mind could not handle becoming a Crimson Red Vermillion. The one whose arrogance held him back and the one who only saw what was next. The result is the one lying beside him.

"Then I have won boy."

There is no emotion in his voice. He's used to it. He has just seen a mound of enemies risk their lives and die meaninglessly. That's what it means to be strong; a person able to give up anything and everything to cut down his foes.

"Seven more minutes. Will they arrive?"

He looks at the grunts rushing to carry him back to that magus. There are no tears to be shed. The greatest general in the country waits for the invaders to penetrate the fortress. The beating of hooves can be heard at a distance. He doesn't care if his adopted father dies. For the first time in his life his heart only contains the slightest trace of pity for the nameless boy who dared challenge the heavens.


	5. into Rider: setting Sun

**into Rider: setting Sun**

"_Pleasures and treasures like the fireworks.  
>And equal to the graveyard of the sea."<br>-Chimeric Sea 1, Fate/Extra_

This is the reason why we are here and not where we should be.

Slowly, we could feel our spindly digits hesitantly creep up higher and higher: first up our chin, then over the arch of our mouth, delicately curving over our nose until finally we reach the mark where our unsoiled flesh touched that which was scared since the beginning.

Two gigantic gashes from eye to opposing cheekbones and funnily enough the scar tissue make an X. We don't remember living without it. It's been on our face since we first noticed it, a stigma as well as a curse. It is my weakness. What would the public do if they see us with such an imperfection? Will we command the same respect from the commoners as we still do? We are not going to risk anarchy for vanity, so we let him take our place. He dressed up as a woman; hid the scars of battle with high finery, and shaved that full-grown beard of his. We trust him, and most of all we trust his abilities. That is why we made him a knight and a privateer, even if we went against any sort of protocol. We don't regret it and we doubt we ever will. Yes, after all, there is something strange about him.

Is it his flamboyant nature? No. His insatiable greed? No. Such traits are common in all pirates. Then what is it? What was it about him that earned him our trust? It must have been so long because we…

"Captain!"

We ignore the call; after all, these sorts of messages are common on a ship. We must not allow such an abrupt call to unravel us.

"Captain, you are wanted at the helm."

Stop talking to us commoner, you want the…

We turn a shade of red which deepens into crimson. We're the captain now aren't we? Why didn't he give such an important role as captains the first mate? Surely, it makes more sense for us to be an esteemed guest or…

"Yes, we'll be right up." We answer reflectively trying not to let our inexperience show.

"Captain, we?"

It didn't work did it…

* * *

><p>We would not exactly call it dirty but it definitely needs a maid. The shamble of odd items stashed on mismatched shelves creaks as the ship moves. Such a wobbling shelf cannot be safe. It would be safer if they were all placed in chests and locked up. But I understand the point of this pointless extravagance. Materials are equal to power. By showing how much finery she has she can show her supremacy. That is why nobles hold balls and parties. It seems no different on land as if it is on sea, which is comforting, but sad since on a ship like this such a show is so ridiculous. Yet what is that man other than the quintessence of ridiculous? It should come to no surprise, unlike how my eyes instantly go to the twin pistols.<p>

We do not like weapons, really, they disgust us. They are objects used by men to crush and kill other men. They are crude and the world would be a better place without them. Truly, they are waste of time and life; the very root of why the world is wrong. However we cannot help admiring the craftsmanship of such a creation; the dark walnut hilt, the hammer slightly protruding out, and the barrels, the beautiful-wide barrels that expel the weapon's deadly load. Death is the only pungent scent that overwhelms my nostrils, yet how can a harbinger of death be so sublime? It… Unconsciously we reach out for the dual pistols, but we remember we don't even know how to handle it.

"Captain's pistols… I mean… your pistols, captain."

We doubt we will be able or even want to hold such a weapon much less use one.

"So Tom, what are we doing? Where we going?" It feels common using his name.

"Didn't the captain tell you?" He seems astounded by both our cluelessness and his captain's boldness.

"No, we, we mean I, was merely told the board the Hind today since he would take our place."

Tom starts laughing from his bloated belly.

"That's great, isn't it? That's mighty great, telling the bloody…" We noticeably cringe and he noticeably silences.

"Sorry, captain, not offense." He stutters, realizing who he is talking to.

"It's quite alright, we're here to learn and we have no qualms about learning."

"Well then captain I'll leave you to it."

He leaves. In the end he didn't want to be here, that hasn't changed at all. We… maybe for a second we thought that our life would change… for we are on a ship and the world has become our stage. But it hasn't and we accept that. We have accepted that since our coronation. The queen is an existence who is above all. The queen is all alone and never alone as she carries with her the weight of the empire. It is a burden she alone can carry, and; therefore, alone she must remain. If that is the undeniable truth then why are we here? Should not the queen have stayed untouched in her iron tower, trapped in court intrigue and the never-ending web of lies? My fingers again creep up my face and I again am reminded of the cruel irony. We are not untouched are we? We have been defiled since birth by this disgusting thing. It hurts. Sometimes it hurts, a phantom pain, but whether one of the heart, or one of the flesh we will never know.

So we do the only thing that is allowed to us. We laugh. We laugh, cursing our fate. We laugh, cursing everything. This jolly laughter that comes from a ship should be nothing special. After all, this is a pirate ship. That is correct. Did not the Captain tell us of all the jolly adventures he had? But this laugh is different. Despair? It's evident. Misery? It's there. But most of all pity. At the end of the day as the sun can only lose its golden brilliance we can also only pity ourselves. We pity ourselves only because of the fact we were born into a brilliant world which we can never hope to equal.

* * *

><p>1577 year of our Lord, 19th year of the reign of 'The Virgin Queen,' and on this particular day the sea is calm, so they only move inch by inch by inch by inch by inch. Yes, they are like the second hand of the grandfather clock back in that prison I call a home. We remember waiting, simply waiting for Father to show. We would watch the clock, and the infernal ticking of that second hand. So I am sure a sight like this could also be used to measure time. Even the wave's motions resemble the pendulum; however, we don't recall the pendulum being this red. It's a sickening color. No, it does not sicken us because of solely its color. We would think we are partial to red. After all, it is the same color as our hair. But the sickening part is how it is flowing out from the water. It's so terrifying, just watching the color squirt from above and under the wave, mixing, mixing, mixing, mixing, mixing, but no matter how much it actually mixes it never is complete washed away. That is the type of sickening scene that we are confronted with. So what else can we do? What else can we do but scream? It's an absolute nightmare. My mind cannot accept what my eyes are seeing.<p>

Why?

The sky is calm and the waves move in a pendulum-like motion. It is this illusion of serenity that we cannot comprehend. How can the world be so sublime? How is the world able to not shrink from the chaos that is happening right below the serene sky? We have heard and been taught what the word juxtaposition means and its connotation. This must be a true juxtaposition. On one hand we have the sky as if was yesterday and on the other hand, just below it, so close that it is almost touching that sea of blue, we have this. The priests that have been hired to teach us had once taught us about hell. We shudder to think about that place, but we never thought for an instant it was real. It is a childish fantasy that we should have rid ourselves of; thinking that hell was in a place that could not touch us. But we were wrong weren't we? We are shuddering right now even if we are not strangers to death. Many have tried to assassinate us and some have had to be killed right in front of our eyes. But this, this is in no way death. This cannot be death. Just the amount of blood seems to turn the world red. The screams of the men attacking those they can no be longer call friend or foe. This is base survival. War is nothing. This is hell. This is an image that penetrates our brains and is printed in such a method so we can never forget it. The only action allowed for us is to scream. This is a world that is not ours. Gone are the courts, gone is the finery, gone are the days that we once called boring. This is his world, not mine. Is this the world he's trying to show us? Is he trying to kill us and take our place instead? But before I can ponder on that question I am pulled back by a man who smells like hell. If he smells like hell then he must be a demon. We're being dragged by demons into the mouth of hell so we scream louder. We don't know why we scream. We don't even think screaming will help us. Yet we keep doing it even though our lungs are about to expire. Maybe it is because we don't want to see this scene that we scream; to allow a more peaceful darkness blanket over the hell that we should have realized that can exist anywhere in this world.

* * *

><p>It's stale but that is to be expected since this is a boat. The water isn't fresh either, but at least we're alive. We've probably been unconscious for a few hours but of course that is only a guess since there are no windows at all. At least this is no longer that...<p>

-crimson, the world was crimson but even that horror could not touch the sky as if God himself only allowed the follies of humanity to touch humanity.

We shake our head trying to get the image out of our head, but it is too late as the image already fills it. It is something that can never be forgotten because why would we ever want to forget it? It's a disgusting image of the world that we live in but was shielded from; therefore, right now we are unable to deal with it in this pitch cell. Should we find this hell as something filled with awe? Or should we shrink from it believing that it should never trespass again? The answer is obvious. So obvious because of what we have been taught and have accepted. So then is the truth worth anything when it was merely given to us? We are not sure and the shaking of this ship does not help us at all and I finally realize it. I don't know where we are. Yesterday we were so sure of what and who we were, but now? And tomorrow we could be dead or even worse could happen to us. The fear eats at our stomach moving towards our chest and eventually it overwhelms us. If yesterday was certainty then how was certainty so easily displaced? Wasn't certainty meant to be an unmovable rock no tide could ever turn? If so, then we were naïve. If so, we are still naïve. We are naïve even if I am no longer the age of naivity. We are really pitiful aren't we? We imagine our other self merely looking at us and laughing at what we have become. This is not a worthy setting for someone like us, so why do we accept it? Is it because this was the conclusion we understood from the beginning, the one that loomed over us the moment we were cursed to wear this mark. If so, then let it be. We were unwanted from the beginning and unwanted we shall be until death do us apart.

"You, who are you?" The voice deaths throughout the cell.

We never knew that Death had a thick Spanish accent or that He spoke English so we don't speak at all.

"They, the rest of the crew want to throw you overboard. A woman is not lucky on a ship like this."

We understand that; however, the crew of the Golden Hind believed that there captain's luck was unquantifiable.

"So you should answer me before they throw you overboard and you are fed to the sharks."

There is something wrong with that. There is something wrong. Something he is saying. Part of us seems to register it. Something-

"There are no sharks here."

It is so quiet that even we didn't know it had been voiced.

He looks at me not shocked but not in the same manner as before either.

"Sea-Hag." He hisses the word as if the world could harm him and without further-ado he leaves us to contemplate that hell and to pity ourself.

* * *

><p>They would throw us over if we had been known as a witch; however, since we are a "sea-hag" they dare not throw us overboard. It's obvious isn't it? Sea-hags are witches of the sea. If one were to throw a sea-hag into the sea they would destroy the ship. What about killing her on the ship itself? Eventually her blood would seep into the sea and she would destroy the ship? What if they dried her up or simply let her starve? Then her spirit would roam around the ship and the populace of the ship would all die. Those were the questions and answers given to the legend known as a sea-hag. Even if they are only rumors they supply us a lifeline. The pirates, if that is what they are, are scared. They have already risked their lives on numerous occasions just the make some gold. One would think would make them less afraid of taking risks, but that is wrong. These are men who have thrown everything away, so what they have now simply increases in value. Not one of these men wants to take any more risk than they have already taken. Therefore as long as there is a risk, even a tiny risk, they will no longer comply. Yes, in a ship like this irrational thought wins over what can be seen. Their lives are one ruled by ritual, fantasy or anything that they can make themselves believe that will allow them to live for one second longer. These men are empty so they try to fill that void with what doesn't exist.<p>

The same man comes back we can't see him at all, but we can make out the shadow which is behind him. It's a looming frightening shadow, one that seems to cover even the darkness which compliantly shrinks behind him. How do we know it is a him? Because he is on this ship therefore he must be male. The shadow leans in and proclaims something that Death translates for me.

"I am risking mutiny with you." Death is robotic; as if these were the words are forced from his throat.

We nod because we understand where he is coming from. Stability is needed and when stability is need then every threat from outside needs to be destroyed. But when that threat is the threat which maintains stability…

"I don't know who or what you are or how you managed to arrive to that cursed ship, but we want to be rid of you."

And he is completely right. That would be exactly how one deals with a threat, exile. It is the easiest method and needs the least amount of blood.

"But I can't have that…" Death's mouth struggles to make the sounds that the shadow behind is urges him to make. "Because that would mean I am weak. As captain of this ship I cannot allow my men to see me like that. So regardless of my wish you must…"

We know what is next. After all we've done the same haven't we? When we said we were close to death we meant we have ordered some deaths as well right? What's the most bloodless way correct? Exile is. At least it seems that way to the populace. But what is the most convenient way? It is when they have been exiled and killed in that exile. So-

Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept,Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept, Accept,

Accept that this is our fate.

Why are we accepting this?

Our mother died the same way; at least that is what we were told. Everyone said that it was fine because she was the second wife. This should not have been our burden. They all shook their heads at us. Of course they could not do it to us but we knew that they did it to us in their hearts. How did we know? Our brother, before he died, did the same every time he saw us. Our father claimed he loved us as well. He claimed no only to our defiled face but also the face of our mother which was separated from her neck, so that is why we say that we are accustomed to death. It stalks us. It is the reason we were born (yes, we know about Catherine of Aragon) and the very reason that we rose to where we are today. Whose fault is it? Is it the fickle stars that wish for the destruction of the Empire? Then it is something that we cannot change because our father who art in heaven once said that he was "struck by the dart of love." He lied. He only loved our mother because she could provide him with an heir. There was no love allowed for her at all. These men, they romp and roam taking what they want and leave us without even what was given to us by his Grace. But now why are we mixing love and death together? They are my origins are they not? No, they are not the impetuses for our existence, but rather the conditions from which we spurted from. But isn't everyone's origin also love and death? Each person has a father and mother who loved each other, and they will take their parent's place when their parent's die. That is what is normal in the world, is it not? The result for those who try to escape are these pirates right here. These are the men who have defied their God given rights and taken to the sea without regard to their own life or fortune. But we're different. Our father who art in heaven killed because he loved and could only love because he killed. He only killed our mother because he loved her and she could not love him back the way he wanted, by giving him an heir. He could only love another woman after our mother died and so on he continued in such a cycle. It's sad. It's sad to watch someone like that who is so consumed. And that is when I realize that we are a pirate. It is just another mark on our face, but it is the truth. We deviated from the path that our parents set for us. We became an existence that we could not have become. We violated our father's love and our father's death. Our father who art in heaven looking down on us right now is… Is there a chance he like us was sent to hell?

If so then it's amusing, this sign: "Abandon all hope, you who enter here." But it is not like we had any hope to begin with.

* * *

><p>We stare into the darkness and it stares back at us. Sometimes the darkness opens a bit and stale bread and stagnant water comes through. Darkness is a lot better to stare at though. We should not tolerate this. We really should not, but what can we do like this? We are powerless. Women are powerless, our mother died because she was powerless. It is the way of the world and to think otherwise is to drown in despair and be cast into hell, but are not we already in hell? So what is the difference? Should not we show a bit of defiance towards our captors? The darkness creeps in and slithers, caressing the mark on our face. It is better to give up. Give up because that was all that was allowed for us in the beginning. Fighting it only get us here. We do not want to be here. And from that darkness that has now slithered past our ear comes the voice of Death once again:<p>

"How did you know, that there no sharks in the area?"

It's not Death, but the shadow which stretches behind him. He's speaking our language almost without an accent at all.

"Tell me. You aren't a sea-hag, I have seen enough to know that. Hell, I even met a sea-hag once, not that any of my men will believe me because I told them my mother was a giantess once, yet they believe you."

He's truly the shadow that moves Death.

"How," We cough because this is the first time we have used my voice in a while. "Why did you use the poor boy?"

"Listening to a translation gives me time to respond. Now, woman, your answer."

"He told us. The first mate of our ship told us that there would be no sharks."

"And you remembered this? This trivial detail, you remembered it?" He starts laughing from his belly. We never knew a shadow could laugh. "And that scar? It's one that chills even me to my bones. Where and how did you obtain that?"

"We were born with it. It is our…"

"Let me guess. It's your burden to carry? Your cross to bear? The embodiment of your pain and suffering?"

We stay shocked, flabbergasted at his words.

"Yes, I understand you woman. You're bad luck, but you are no sea-hag. Just drown in your misfortune and die."

We are shocked, not because he is right, but because we can finally remember why we knighted "him" of all people.

* * *

><p>This is not salvation. This is not the natural course of events as well. We are not happy. We are not ecstatic. We only realized what was so wrong with us, and what was so wrong with that ship. We gazed into the darkness and found singularity. Our mind is chaos, chaos rules our mind, and therefore our mind could not understand anything. That chaos still exists and probably will never perish. We know our mind is chaos even if we are about to be freed.<p>

"Why are you paying so much for a simple woman like her?"

He is no longer a shadow, but a mere mortal slightly taller than the rest of them.

"We would have you killed in an instant. You murdered so many of our men, but we're going to offer this amount to you." The First Mate avoids the question.

"And what if you just take your ship? We overwhelmed you last time what is to say that we can't do it again."

"Look at your men you idiot!" The First Mate is angry, he not angry because he hates the mortal, no, it's a matter of principle. A leader, even an intern leader, needs to take in consideration of his men before his goals. Even we know that.

The mortal is not discouraged though: "And what if I cut her head right now on this spot."

"You will die." A voice that surprises everyone including ourself.

"Says the woman who crowns herself the queen of misfortune just because of one little gash to her pretty little face."

Our eyes flare.

* * *

><p>He is right. He is absolutely right. I am the queen of misfortune. A queen that only became so by stepping on the bodies and dreams of so many. A queen whose father murdered those he loved and whose mother who could never try. That is what we are, that is our beginning point and these two scars prove that to the world. They are who we are, so-to-speak, so we can never escape from that. To escape is to fall into an abyss deeper than any hell.<p>

But.

"Let me guess. It's your burden to carry? Your cross to bear? The embodiment of your pain and suffering?"

Even if it is true we can never accept that statement to be the truth.

Even if, from the bottom of my heart, we know it to be true we will keep rejecting that truth.

We had forgotten that.

To forget is not a sin but to not remember is.

We understand that logic now and because we almost never remembered we almost never remembered that meeting.

"You're quite the treasure aren't you?"

It wasn't the first time that I was praised; after all we are a queen.

"Why would you say so?" But I'm curious why a pirate, a connoisseur of treasure, would say that to me of all people.

"Because X marks the spot." It's a genuine smile from one who is too occupied with living.

* * *

><p>It is because of a life that we lost so long ago that we are always alone. That has been our way of living. But being alone denotes singularity so why so do we think we? When did we start thinking of ourself as we? It's obvious is it not? They died. They all died and the existence known as Elizabeth survived. She, out of all those equally precious human existences, survived. Why? Why did she survive? Why was it only her who is alive enjoying this day? There were others, not just us three, but they died as well. And now Elizabeth is all alone. She is their legacy. She is their hopes and dreams. She can't forget them, no, to do so would be turning her back on all those that have died and that she has stepped on to get where she is now. She can not deny them. They are her past. They like the horrid parents who bore her, and are therefore inherently the conditions for her existence. Without them she has and is nothing. Elizabeth is their legacy after all: all the ones that were born dead, all the ones that were born and died, and all the ones that were born and lived and then died, she must hold them within that feeble body of hers.<p>

Why?

If she does not all their struggles mean nothing. If she does not hold all those hopes and dreams inside of miserable body, if she doesn't live their lives for them. What was it all for? What was that cycle of love and death all for? What did those lives mean? How can those lives which are already dead find their happiness? There is no answer to that is there? Elizabeth despairs that there is no answer to that, so she took them, all of them inside of her; all their pain, all their dreams, all their hope. She said she would do it all for them. She promised to live their lives for them and we was born. We exist purely so Elizabeth's dream can be realized, but we are Elizabeth. That is the problem. There never was a we in the first place. It was all a phantasy, a phantasy that we tried to re-create into a reality. But we have realized it now. They are behind us, always behind us, looking, judging our very actions; them, mere phantoms. What is dead is dead. It cannot harm us. It cannot even comfort us. It is just dead. We tried to tell ourselves that if we in took their wishes and hopes we would be fulfilling their lives. But then what about Elizabeth? What about the phantoms were stepped on and died so that Elizabeth could be happy. So she's wrong, isn't she? She should be living as she wants; living the life that was not allowed for those phantoms. That is the reason they died. So in trying to remember them, trying to make their wishes come true, Elizabeth actually ended up cursing them and throwing back their gift right to their ghostly faces. They died so Elizabeth could survive and be happy. That is all there is, isn't there? So I am terribly sorry since something must be corrected right this instant.

* * *

><p>My eyes flare.<p>

And with as much power as I can muster I shake the arms that roots me to this spot and with a bounding leap that surprises even myself I land back onto the Golden Hind.

The captain of the pirates just looks at me. He is cornered, and the only way out is to destroy our ship. He has no more supplies; he needs to take the Hind's water at the very least.  
>He opens his mouth, I expect a command to attack, but:<p>

"W-Who are you?"

I smile and decide to guide them to hell with my name:

"I am woman who set the sun."

The crew of the Hind roars as they charge into hell once more.

* * *

><p>War is disgusting. I understand that now. But it is strange because without war there is no peace. It is just one of the many contradictions that I have to deal with as queen. Much like this silver breast plate I am wearing which is chafing the velvet dress I am wearing right now. But I cannot complain, mostly because I am giving a speech now. Yes, it is ironic that right now I am facing the Spanish. I am sure those pirates were also Spaniards, but it matters little now. I remembered what I needed to remember that day and that is all there is to that story. I learnt that rather looking at what was I needed to look at what is and for the future of this Empire, what maybe so. Therefore, just for now…<p>

"My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourself to armed multitudes for fear of treachery; but I assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people ... I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any Prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of my realm."


	6. into Saber: orkney

**into Saber: orkney**

"_The Holy Grail is only for the magus strong enough to take it  
>But what is true strength? What is fatal weakness?<br>…Let there be light enough to illuminate your way."_

_-Chimeric Sea 7, Fate/Extra_

She's gone.

She left me alone in this world.

I don't quite understand.

She chose sovereignty over anything else, so naturally was also her choice when she died. Yet in doing what was expected of such a Dame, she crushed my heart.

Happy days, peaceful days; all of them have been transfigured into a mere fulsome act by a woman who simply wanted to rule; a woman _that_ was held in the heart of the knight of the sun for five summers.

The flames begin to flicker back and forth. Someone approaches my hunched body; they mean no harm to me because this is Camelot, and this is a chapel of God.

I've lingered here long enough that I have missed the execution of the queen.

Her execution is unseemly; however, in the end, it is the right course of action. The fact, even if she is the queen, remains that she must die to sustain the untouchable king who is the light of all of England. She must die for that ideal as there must be sacrifices that must be made even if they are sacrifices that shouldn't be made.

But because such a paradox exists I refuse to take part in this burning. The role of Gawain is to be the perfect aide for the king. The king is the country which means the country is the king. I must guide our dragon of a king; that king who is the only shining star in this sooty sky. Yet, I am still a knight, a knight who has his own code of conduct.

"The queen should die."

That is the sentiment.

"The queen is an adulteress."

We all understand that her death is necessary for Camelot's continued existence.

But isn't it ugly?

It's ugly, isn't it?

This path littered with innocents will lead us to a ruin forged atop betrayals.

These are equal but opposite arguments and, today many-spired Camelot has thrown sanity into a lake of ever-hungry flames. Even so, I refuse to participate because of him, the sinner, the very man who tried to take our king's wife and the knight who was my fellow and friend.

Again, another equal and opposing element.

There is no correct answer because-

"Sir Gawain," a solemn voice comes expectantly from above my head. "They're dead. The cuckold, Lancelot, has killed your brothers."

Ahhh…

-so you have left me as well.

It can only be called a flame of despair; a seething flame born and contained in a furnace of anger.

* * *

><p>"Sir Lancelot not only killed my brothers, that black knight even betrayed the King. Kidnapped the King's wife. How can one expect that to be forgiven?"<p>

And such a festering only grew the longer my brothers' bodies nourished the earth.

The dark fire that smoldered within my heart could only ache at the sight of sun, telling me to find him, always him, for I would make him pay for everything that was ever stolen from me because he is the one who is wrong. He is wrong because I cannot understand him either. Even if I look through all my memories and all my experiences, it's an idea that is completely foreign to me. Why would be go so far for someone like that? He has thrown away his life, his friends, even his own king – and for what exactly?

I know what it means to love someone - but to throw away everything to, violate and destroy your so-called love's life? Can that really be called love? Or is it really just selfishness.

Yes; it's selfish and because it is selfish it needs to be punished. Someone must remind him that he cannot cross this threshold, even if the king, my brilliant star, waves off his actions, saying:

"I was at fault for everything."

A complete pardon-

"I was at fault for everything."

-that shouldn't have ever been uttered.

Forgiveness is not given to he who has sinned. The sinner is one who must earn his forgiveness. He must pay. Pay with his life if necessary. The king is someone who shoulders everything. Everyone is therefore naturally included. If everyone is included so is the sin of he who has betrayed his king. For the king who shoulders everything; even he who has seceded from the light. This is pain. This is agony. The king cannot operate. The king, the perfect king, my perfect king. Therefore such an existence is not permitted. Drawn into defilement? Sunk into mediocrity? That's why I exist. This is an action that goes beyond any personal feelings. Yes, this is a feeling that cannot be called hatred. The sun, the all-seeing fiery, ever-lasting orb in the all-seeing sky must protect the king.

He is pitch, a thick, black corroding substance.

* * *

><p><em>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer<br>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer  
>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer<br>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer  
>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer<br>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer  
>Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer Defer<em>

It's not personal. This is something that goes beyond my person. He killed my brother's _defer_ a mashing of emotions _defer_ a steel wind that numbs all my_ defer_ senses. It overwhelms, it un-becomes. This is temptation that one cannot _defer escape_; a sickly sweet, overripe temptation that dribbles drop by drop, rotting, just rotting.

"But you are correct Gawain: even if he did not take Guinevere with him, he must be made an example of as a traitor to the Round Table."

Ah, my liege, my light you are my shining star. You are the ideal king; to further your reign, your ideals, I will follow and crush he who tries to destroy what we have worked so hard for: this utopia, this small slice of peace, this self-contained garden that cannot be corrupted, even by that traitor tries to rend our ideal-apparent.

It smiles, that 'thing' inside of me. It is a 'thing' that should not exist. I thought it never existed. But it was only dormant and waiting. I look at it, and it looks back at me in anticipation for that which is to come. This cat-eyed monster just will not look away from me. Its envy, its cold hard stone heart is so apparent from just a mere glimpse into its soul from its windows. Where did it come from? Why is it here urging me on? I don't know. I don't know why. It's a monster. I kill monsters. But this monster's sweet dripping voice, like viscous honey, pours over my brain.

_Which is the lesser? Which is the lesser?_ Surely you are the lesser. _Then he is a greater monster?_

"It's true," the seductive whispers drip. They flow from the top of my head to my gauntlets, _drip_ it courses through what used to be called my veins _drip drip_, and my heart is now sublimated.

_Drip, Drip, Drip_

For the first time in my life I WANT to kill someone-

_Drip, Drip, Drip,_

-and this gentle pillowing rain of France is the perfect stage.

* * *

><p>What happens when two armies meet? Why should two armies meet? One army is created to subdue a threat or right an injustice, but what if the enemy gathers an army as well? But how can one stand down when such injustices occur to one's country, land, and fami-people. As we are correcting an injustice for those noble reasons, we cannot back down. To back down is to violate any law of chivalry. So what is left but to fight and bathe in the glory allowed for us, to use our god-forged weapons and rend a hole into our enemies' core?<p>

"Galentine!"

The true name is cast for the reborn sword of victory; light rules the battlefield. It's a light as overwhelming as the sun. It bathes all, even those who dare affront it by leaving in its wrath. It sears the land, but of course it would, it is "my sword" isn't it? A Last Phantasm, one of the god-forged swords kept in the domain of the fairies, the sister-sword to the king's. My sun to his moon. That black knight could never match this majesty, not after he dyed his blade black by plunging it into those knights again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

"Gawain," my liege's voice sounds. The thing inside of me says it's a little too high for a king. "Please don't use your energy so rashly."

But, my liege, the easiest way would be to use our swords and overwhelm that army and obliterate that traitor who defiles the space that we live in right this moment and greedily hoards our water, and ravages our lands; so, my liege, death - no, a fate far worse than death - is what this tumor in our world deserves. So I'm…

"Gawain," the red dragon's emerald eyes roar.

The monster in my eyes lusts to roar back, barely chained by whatever reason I have left.

"Yes, your majesty," comes a strained reply as that monster prying into my soul.

To defeat the devil one must become a monster. We are monsters. We are all monsters. Humans are just monsters - just look at how one attack destroyed half their army - even without my numeral of the saint - so if humans are monsters then-

-he must be a god, our ideal king, the dragon of the battlefield who runs through these scorched golden plains knowing that his country is behind him. The king is the wielder of the holy sword, the crystallization of man's wish 'to be exalted.' We, monsters, live to protect him, and only in protecting him can we be blessed to become more than monsters. We become knights. But the thing riding up the hill broke that. He spat and abandoned the only code that differentiates us from monsters. He cursed the heavens and blasphemed the earth; he is a devil. He's no longer even a monster; he is an enemy _that_ which can no longer be surrendered to. An enemy every fiber of my body tells me to destroy, emphatically, even if we were both the right-hands of the king. If I am the sun _that_ illuminates the sky, he is the eclipse _that_ brings despair to our nation.

"EX-"

I prepare it again. It doesn't matter. My liege is correct; I should save my energy. That's why amongst the chaos that is this battlefield of doubts I swear to only use it this once. One is all I need because there is only one of him and when one is subtracted from one there is no more. There is no more to be lost if there is only zero. _It is not fulsome to think that which is the truth; it is only fulsome to not pour your prana into your holy sword to destroy the overwhelming darkness that _is met by such brilliance.

Yes, even if it is darkness I must note it as brilliance as it shrouds everything and sends everything any everyone, including me, into the pit known as hell.

-But I don't care.

The force is so overwhelming that even the gentle rain is severed in two.

-But I don't care.

Even if his hell-spawned mount is snorting onto my armor.

I won't care, because as long as long as there is a ray of sunlight...

-I am a Saint.

So throw all you have against me you traitor to the Knights of the Round Table. Throw that undying light of the lake towards me. Thrust at me with all the hate which fills your limbs.

Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it,

It doesn't matter. The Numeral is III. It's a numeral that extends above any of the rolls which might save you. It's a numeral that extends above any of the parameters which the light bestows to you, for my light will crush your darkness.

And because of that it must seethe, it must permeate. It must course through my body like nothing else.

Why?

-Because this is the cost of justice. This is the price paid for choosing who is right and who is wrong and because you are wrong, I must be right and there is no other explanation. And because I am right, you must be wrong. And because you are wrong you must be destroyed, even as I feel your cold god-forged hatred across my armor as my own god-forged justice can only take to the empty skies that baptize the plains of the fallen.

* * *

><p>Blow after blow we continue.<p>

-_This is not hard._

He, blessed with the momentum of a hell-spawned mount, doesn't retreat.

-_This doesn't hurt at all._

I don't retreat because the Numeral is still III.

-_So, how about it? _

The charger rushes towards me.

How many frontal assaults has he tried?

Every one of those attacks have been parried and distorted, so why does he continue?

_It's hate which drives those limbs of his, hate that does not fill you limbs because hate makes strength and strength makes hate._

Is that why my arms are weakening? They do not have any hate unlike his gauntlets which have been dyed black.

Is that why with every blow, his attacks are harder to parry and to distort?

Has the monster been so overwhelmed with hatred that even my single light can no longer shine?

So this is despair, isn't it?

_Then just drown in it._

This black sword that carries his will becomes my despair; how fitting...

_Just drown in your own despair._

-Because his sword has even dyed the sky black.

It's not III.

No longer is it III.

But the moment that thought leaves me, he's approaching, the pale rider and his horse.

Did I mean pale?

No, it can't be pale; he is as black as his heart is as black as soot.

It only looked pale in comparison to-

Streaming head-first into the fray, the light halts the darkness. Rather the darkness fails to overwhelm this light, because such an overbearing darkness filled with such despair cannot be halted; its advance can only be redirected. Even so, it's almost a miracle my light has redirected beast-borne darkness, but miracles come second nature to the king.

But if my king is a brilliant comet that streams through the plains, the traitor is a steadfast meteor hungering to meet the comet. As if there was some invisible force pulling them together they clash, light and dark, star and soot, each trying to gain supremacy of the scorched field. I've seen my king fight many-a-time but again, I cannot but stop and be amazed at the sight; even the monster in me stops chattering for a moment.

Each blow is aimed to kill, definitely. They cannot be merely shrugged off. So much fervor, so much power, so much prana is poured into this one exchange. But the sword of promised victory cannot defeat the undying light of the lake. Rather, the perfect existence of the one wielding the sword of promised victory cannot defeat the fact that man-shaped misfortune has slain a dragon. To fight for the country, the king has inherited the prana of the dragon and it is because he inherited the prana and blood of the dragon that-

The flow starts to change, and the darkness moves from defense to an attempt to overwhelm the king. The steadfast meteor moves and with it, great momentum. The small brilliant light stats to fade back. It's inevitable; after all, if the combatants are equal the one with the worse compatibility will fall.

It starts to squirm, squelching, swishing all over my body. _He's there, right in front of you._ This temptation starts to worm into my head again and it's right. The king won't kill the darkness, no matter who the king is, the darkness will be supreme. In this instant if I wanted, and I do, I could kill him in one sword-stroke. I could kill the knight who killed my brothers. I could destroy him right now. Now. Him, the knight _that_ said, "The king does not understand human emotions."

The king does not need to understand human emotions because he is the king, the ideal king _that_ shines brilliantly and takes down all his foes. _That_ is my king, the king I serve and groom. The king _that_ is now in a scene that seems so feeble because those words spill out of his mouth.

"Even so, Lance. Even so, it's all my fault so-"

The king, like he should, takes in all the darkness in the world. He carries the burden with that tiny body of his.

So-

"Yet that's not enough."

Huh?

That's…my…voice…

_Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough, Not enough._

It pounds that it's _not enough_. It's not just the sound of _not enough_ unbreakable swords pounding each other. It's _not enough_ nothing like that all even if _not enough_ the sword of promised victory has regained its _not enough_ edge over the now fading light of the lake. It's _not enough_ something that comes from within me, a rhythmic pound and not enough a rush. Circling, circling my body, _it's not enough. _

nine _is not enough._

twelve _is not enough._

three _is not enough._

six _is not enough._

Of course they wouldn't be enough, and even if they were enough -it isn't nine, twelve, three, or six, so it won't be enough either. So what will be enough?

"_Enough will become enough."_ The honey toned voice urges me.

Yes, that voice is right. Enough will always be enough, so where do I find enough? Where do I find enough to overwhelm that darkness? I always thought that my king was enough, but that's wrong, isn't it? He will never be enough. He is always carrying the burden of the country and that will never allow him to be enough, because enough is not part of King Arthur's legend. But what about the knight of darkness? Yes, he is enough. He is the destroyer. He is enough. _Throw away. Throw away_. The dripping sound of all the possessions in the world, all the titles, all the lands, all the armor, all the weapons, all the … Yes, if I _defer_ do that I will be enough.

"_Yes, you will be enough." _

It's absolutely poisonous. But the light cannot hold by itself.

"_Completely destroy one village to save twenty."_

Whose ideal is that?

Light. My shooting star.

Enough is enough. Therefore necessity is necessity. If it wasn't necessary then defer-

"_-defer to me until it is necessary and enough because enough will never be enough until enough is necessary."_

The moment extends into infinity since it is _not enough._

And if it is not enough, should I defer? Should I defer this which I have found so precious for this honey which finds me so precious?

Their swords never will meet; they will stay upright. They'll stay in that pose forever. Nothing will be changed. Nothing will be avenged. That is the answer _you_ have arrived at because he is the king. The king that carries all the burdens, _you_ know this. _You_ know this because _you_ trained him to carry all those burdens. He will destroy everyone he calls his enemy to only save his country. So then…

"_Ask yourself. Ask yourself this one simple question O Lord. O' Chivalrous Knight who knoweth the sun so intimately. I beg of you to just ask yourself this one question. No, actually, you already know. It's there. Even something like me who you have not completely let into your heart knows. It's there, on the forefront of your mind, on the back of your mind. It's inscribed all over your body: those twitching veins, that visage which is clouded with admiration for a light that will inevitably one day fade. You know it will fade because you are the one who created it and everything that has a beginning has an end. So you don't have to ask yourself. Just acknowledge it. Just say what has to be deferred-" _

It's almost like a dance in the hall of Camelot. A teasing sort of movement, never touching, only gliding, a step in, a step out. It's not a dance that leads to death, but rather a dance with death. And I know why. The honeyed voice is correct because I know why. The evidence is the soil which I am standing on, the vigor that fills my lungs, and the steady pitter-patter that never ceases to annoy me.

"_Yes," _

-This is not England

"_Yes," _

In that moment the world shatters.

-This is not England.

He is the king of England. But this is not England. The king of England is not protecting England at all. The king, upholding his ideal, will never destroy without mercy that which does not harm the country. It will never be enough. It will never be enough.

_-Defer_

It fills me. I don't know what could fill me in this eternal moment, but it does. It's a hot pricking of the flesh as opposed to the running of water. It fills me. There is nothing else that can fill me, so it must be that. The requirement to actualize a miracle. That is what is filling me, and from a source which I cannot explain.

_-Defer_

A torrent seethes through me. A torrent seethes through where only a trickle had flowed through before, and it won't fit. It definitely will not fit. So all it can do is force its way through.

Ahhhhh,

I understand now. Perhaps now I can see why the darkness is and the darkness was. If it was such an overwhelming torrent then, he could have never won in the first place. But empathy does not equal sympathy, and the actions that he did are atrocious. They can never be pardoned, they can never be forgiven. That is what I confirm from the torrent which rushes through my very essence.

_-Defer_

So I will-

"Ex-"

Time moves again, time that will never again move for that darkness about to be overwhelmed by heat, rather than the light that just looks at me.

I forget the light's name for a second, having deferred my humanity.

"CALIBU-

So fast-

-just so fast.

It's a simple motion. A motion that has no meaning other than to kill. From the pits of my soul I think that it is a beautiful motion. I would praise the one who wielded his blade like that were he no the darkness _that_ can no longer be permitted to exist.

It irks me.

It irks me so.

He has defeated me.

So all that will fill this world of mine is red, a red that slowly lulls my name.

But it's still there. That torrent. It's still there.

It irks me.

It irks me so.

"_Do you want to be rid of it?"_

It's back, that voice filled with so much promise that it must be true. It should-

I'm falling, the sword's edge was so fine it pierced through my armor and sadly six wouldn't have protected me.

I can therefore only nod because it is not enough.

"_Then let it be so."_

And so it will be so because be-will it so.

Yet, I have to ask it something. Ask that which is nothing like my light and nothing like my darkness, but only my honey, the honey that no fly escapes from.

"What are you?" My lips move and it's a voice much like my own. Rather, my own voice is much like it.

"_Enough."_ A single word that permeates this sinking sensation.

-Yes, that's enough.

* * *

><p>The sky at sunset is the colour of blood.<p>

The ground before my eyes is also the colour of blood.

The corpses, all slumped onto the ground, are those who believed the light, even the traitors.

"_I was right."_

Yes, you were right. The king will destroy everything if it is for the protection of the country. The lives he could not take in France… she takes here. He reaps them, and we reap them as well no matter what pain dulls my senses. It trickles from the shoulder that was slashed.

But I would follow my light to the ends of the world, so I continue fighting on this cursed hill of Camlann.

My brother Mordred usurped the throne while we were campaigning in France and this is the natural result of the war.

"_It's all his fault, you know."_

My light, my king is never wrong, so again I agree with you. It is that black knight who has destroyed the union that should have lasted as long as time itself.

But I only have eyes for a different him, a him who slashes at the knights who once followed him. He is the ideal king; he delivers this country from evil and nothing else. The king does not need human emotions, so why did the darkness say "King Arthur does not understand human emotions," with such disdain?

Wave after wave they come.

Wave after wave they are defeated.

Wave after wave. Men have become reduced to this one phrase.

Wave after wave. They no longer mean anything. The moment each wave touches the other, they both crash and sink, molding the earth.

Knights and Chivalry? What are they?

My honey chuckles at the destruction of a world.

"_This is a world covered in death._"

And, on cue, as if the World had just heard such an assertion, it sends a soldier to me, easily crushed by the simple swing of my god-forged blade.

Who is the one protecting the country?

Who is the one attacking and destroying the peace?

King Arthur does not understand human emotions.

King Arthur not need to understand human emotions because he is the king.

Why can't the other knights understand this? His word is absolute and as servants to the light of the land we can only submit.

Another soldier rushes at me. It's pitiful, but I do not say anything. I merely just crush yet another skull with an overhead slash.

They keep approaching me and I keep on slashing them away.

Why continue this pointless massacre? Is it because they are the ones who are trying to protect their lands from us, the invaders?

Slash.

More red is added to this hill as the king and the traitor draw closer and closer.

"_You could destroy them all."_

But my honey is wrong. Now, with a shoulder injured I can no longer use the Holy Sword as I used to, I can only:

Slash.

More red added to an artificial lake which now resembles the very place where this sword was drawn.

But that doesn't fill me with either disgust or joy. I can no longer feel anything at all. It's enough. That torrent of hatred is all that wants to fill me. But there is nothing else. So why am I here instead of in France trying to overwhelm the darkness?

Slash.

Another face is added to the every growing pile.

I find no pleasure in this. I only do what I was ordered to my king who does not need human emotions. I only exist for my king. But if only my king didn't exist. If he weren't here, if only he weren't there either. If only he wasn't; if only he was, rather than is. Then-

"_-maybe you could have overwhelmed that darkness."_

Slash.

Slash.

Slash.

I ward myself against those thoughts because those are the thoughts that turn me into one those faces that I have slashed. I will not allow traitors of the king to survive; I am no exception to that rule. I am definitely not an exception of that rule. The king is the king. The king is flourishing as the king. Even a hell like this is nothing to the king, since he is our light, he is our shining star.

Slash.

So this is all I have to do.

Slash.

All for the sake of becoming the cornerstone of a single king, the light of this nation, I will…

"_Yes, you will…"_

So in the end even being a knight does not matter. Chivalry does not matter. The only thing that matters should be…

Sla-

But my hand is stopped.

Is it the wound Lancelot had dealt me?

I would like to think so but it cannot be.

The honeyed voice tells me to strike, strike since it is not too late.

But I can't-

Is it because I have finally gazed at the visage of he who is my opponent? The features are there, the vigor in the eyes, the battle crazed roar that is formed with his mouth. Is that the existence I have become?

"_Slash."_

The honeyed voice no longer suggests but rather commands.

"_Slash." _

But I can't. I can't slice a face that looks like that because I love it.

I love the face that resembles my brother, a brother I lost to the darkness, so even if every fiber of my body is screaming that I should take a step and slash him in half-

I am pierced through the heart by some nameless soldier.

"_You failure."_

Ahhhh, so this is hatred. Honey is hatred. Hatred betrays me in my final moments.

My body hits the ground as the nameless soldier cheers, having defeated the Knight of the Sun - but you're wrong, my murderer. You were a few days too late, since now I am no longer the Knight of the Sun, but rather just another bitter man who laments at this nation.

It's hot, my face is really hot and it's wet, wet with rage. Rage at whom?

Myself.

There is only one person who is at fault. The one who destroyed this country is I. I am death, the destroyer of Britain. I guided the king to France so I could obtain my petty revenge. Petty, that is the only word for it. So it's all my fault. The king, the ideal king had to take all the responsibilities of the country. I lamented that he took his queen's and Lancelot's as well, while I blindly - no, arrogantly - believed that I had no faults.

But I was wrong, the king also burdened himself with my faults so it would seem like I had none. I never guided the king, I only burdened him and in the chance there is a next time-

"If there is an opportunity to restore my honor, a second life, then at that time I will devote my everything to the king…"


	7. into Berserker: memories of Moonlight

**into Berserker: memories of Moonlight**

"_Power makes you mistake truth,  
>and truth makes you wish for power.<br>Eyes! This foolishness is testimony of you, humanity."  
>FateExtra, Chimeric Sea 4_

-A repeated red.

It's a mundane red that serves to signal rather than change, so I, like everybody else around me, stop and merely wait for a signal that feeds us the message which authorizes movement.

This town hasn't changed at all even if we are nearing December. It's still so loud, but the glimmering that should accompany Christmas hasn't come yet. As a seemingly ordinary person, I shouldn't have the right to say so, but this town is boring.

So why would I be in a town that I find boring?

I came to this town, which is a station away from my town to avoid being alone. But this town is a disappointment. This town is just so intimate; everyone is permitted their own privacy if they do not approach anyone else. It's such a disappointment for me who had begun to find out that my life is no longer fun.

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep.

These are the five activities which encompass my entire day. How can anyone say that life is fun and exciting even their life is a forecast-able list like that? So when I hear a paradoxical laugh across the road I must find its source. Who would laugh in such a rowdy but lonely town? Who? What?

Ahhhhh,

In the beginning she was a necessary existence. She was necessary, but nothing else other than necessary, and because she was necessary, she was given a life and was allowed to live, all because she was necessary.

That is the beginning of the Golden Witch, the White Princess of the True Ancestors, later known as Arcueid Brunestud.

Who is Arcueid Brunestud?

I don't know, probably that golden fairy disgustingly laughing right in front of me. She is merely a radiant existence which makes everyone else seem mundane. I believe I could see that even without these eyes.

Oh, that's right, I forgot to mention didn't I?

These eyes; my eyes are special. I didn't obtain these eyes; rather I was born with them. I am not arrogant enough to think that these are the only pair in the world. I am sure there are eyes manifold more special than this pair, but it's thanks to these eyes that I can-

_-The princess had her usual dream again today. She doesn't like seeing these dreams at all. Her dream was a deep red today also. _

Repetitive.

Unchanging.

Stagnant.

That is the ultimate truth that these eyes bring me. For example, say that I wanted to move to another country, but I was too scared. After all, I don't know anything about that country. I don't know the lay of the land, I don't know the people, I don't know the language either. So why should I leave the comfort of my boring home which I understand for a place like that?

Routine is necessary for assimilation. One needs to become familiar to thrive in an environment. Of course there are exceptions. These holes are called unfit existences by the very society which deems them unfit; however, humans are generally the same, so routine is the key to surviving another environment.

But routine is not something that can be obtained without transition. It is a seemingly unreachable mendacity that one has to work for bit by bit. A mere delusion that is required for a continued, comfortable, yet boring existence. Routine is countless little parts that eventually turn into-

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep,

so it's a contradiction. One cannot obtain routine without having first lived in that environment and one does not wish to leave one's own environment unless one has an established routine in the other environment. Again, of course there are exceptions to such a life as well; such as romance, dreams, ambitions, but I'm not going to take them into account.

Now what if I told you it doesn't have to be a contradiction at all? What if I told you there was a way to obtain someone else's routine? Yes, if you had access to someone's memory you could empathize with not only everything that they did or had done, but also their emotions at the time. You would understand all the little pieces that led that person to-

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep,

and that is what my eyes let me do. I experience it every day and the conclusion I am supplied is boring. The conclusion is always the same. Life is boring. Humans themselves are boring. There is nothing exciting with us at all which is why I am so interested with the existence just across from me.

True Ancestor.

No one told her that was the name for her race. She just knew it from the day she was born, if born is a correct term to put it. She had been born as a Princess. It wasn't because she was actually a Princess. True Ancestors don't have a social hierarchy, so from the beginning she was already something that she was not, something that was necessary but shouldn't necessarily exist. I doubt she ever knew what being a Princess meant. Actually I doubt that she knew what 'being' meant at all.

Truly, this 'fairy' is more pitiful than a human being.

Her race didn't want 'someone,' they only wanted a weapon. This woman didn't know the reason why she was created. I don't think she actually cared; perhaps she didn't even know what 'cared' meant. It's not that she was sheltered, but rather it was just never necessary for her to learn any trivialities. She was created for one purpose, so if she did that purpose well, why would she need to know anything else that might strip her of the only thing that kept her necessary, her usefulness?

Hah, it's just funny. It's so funny that I should be laughing. It's funny that I'm gazing at the memories of an immortal without feeling any awe at all. She's just like everyone else. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. She may even be more boring than a human just because she is immortal.

"_When tomorrow comes, you will sleep forever until you become an adult."_

The Princess does not understand these words; after all, she was brought up to never understand, but I, a living, thinking human, do. The crux of the existence known as Arcueid Brunestud is to be necessary. Arcueid Brunestud at that point in time was not necessary. So then she shall sleep, sleep until she is necessary.

Boring, it's all so boring.

But I find a connection of some sort with this immortal. This untouchable existence was taught everything about the world while she was asleep. Taught. She never learned about the world. It was all crammed into that perfect head of hers. Like right now I am being taught; taught how boring the life of an immortal truly is, but before she was taught all the truths and all the lies in the world she met another boring existence. One who does not matter at all.

He claimed to be a magician but that's still boring.

He claimed to be the one who stopped the moon from falling from the sky onto the Earth, but that's still boring.

Because-

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep.

His life is still wrapped in routine. There is no escape for him. No matter how many strange worlds he claims to see, no matter how many jewels he claims to hold. He is boring even if he looks at the princess and, with a peculiar grin, comments that:

"_This is why life is interesting."_

The golden fairy was intrigued by the boring man. Yes; after all, I can say that this is the first time she saw a smiling face. But for me who has seen all the smiles in the world this one trivial smile was of no consequence. I am only intrigued by his words which so boldly claim that his boring life was interesting.

"_Why do you smile Zel? No one at the castle smiles."_

The twinkling of a bell rings through a field of some sort of white-moon flower. It's a fitting voice for such a golden existence.

"_You smile because you enjoy your own life."_ The boring man replies with a boring answer.

You enjoy your life because you have given up.

You enjoy your life because it is normal.

You enjoy your life when there are no longer any more wants, there aren't any more needs and you have nothing else to do other than to enjoy your pathetic life.

It makes me sick. This man does. He's a horse. Yes, that's a good way to put it. He's a horse in a racetrack with a carrot right in front of him. Except this man knows that there is no way he will ever reach that carrot. He knows that carrot is a goal which will never be obtained. Actually, maybe he's already obtained the carrot and his rider is just dangling another one. Either way, this man just keeps on running because he wants to and calls it enjoyable. No, that's not something this man should be happy about.

Why?

It's boring. Nothing is changing at all. Every ending leads to stagnation.

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep,

All the time with a smile.

A smile branded on your un-shifting face every day, every night, even if you know this is all you will do, but not everything you could do.

Yes, it must be so painful knowing that you could change the world but deciding not to because you are married to a routine and therefore are scared of what may come.

Which is why she didn't change even if she found out who and what she was. Even if she, for the first time, experienced that she was not a perfect existence. She became the shatterer of her people; she was their executioner, their perfect existence who was so perfect that they forgot one simple fact: she was one of them. They were her and she, them. All the weaknesses that exist in the True Ancestor race stemming from that one time king of the moon exist within her. So when that boring man who wanted to achieve eternity offered her a goblet of blood… Of course she would act.

But that alone doesn't move me.

Seeing all this red committed by the moonlight itself does not move me at all.

One, she doesn't remember it. Yes, I can't empathize with anything that Arcueid Brunestud does not remember. She only remembers the red and therefore I can only feel the red.

Two, this doesn't change anything since she still is Arcueid Brunestud. She is still is the White Princess of the True Ancestors, this act of genocide does not change that fact at all. Rather, it serves to affirm her position as the greatest True Ancestor.

So her memories are useless. There is nothing interesting about her because nothing about her ever changed. She was built to hunt those of her race who had succumbed to bloodlust and now after she has killed all of the race she hunted, she still hunts, but now for he who has stolen her power.

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to University,

Work,

Eat,

Sleep.

Yea, it's still the same as always.

So she hasn't changed at all.

Even if her hair is stolen by her sister.

Even if she befriends a demon cat.

Even if she wakes up again, and again, and again, and again.

She's boring. She's the most boring thing on earth.

And that's when I realized...

-that life was meaningless.

Humans exist only to produce and then to reproduce. I understand that, and in reply to such a societal truth, I ask the question "to what end?" But no one has ever had the so-called human decency to answer. However, in this moment which extends into infinity I was able to glimpse the memories of something that was not human. An existence that I thought might be interesting since she was laughing, but evidently she's just as boring as the rest; no, she's even more boring than anyone else I have 'peeked' at.

Why?

She's different from them.

She can only be called "eternal." If she wants to I am sure that she would live forever, at least until the world ended.

And that's why life is meaningless.

She has merely accepted her role in life even if she is such a transcendental existence.

Hell, even I have accepted my role in life.

I have become what I hate, a creature running around a circular track chasing a prize that he will never obtain. What's fun about continuing just to reproduce and build things? There isn't a clear goal; neither is there an end, but humans carelessly keep growing meaninglessly.

Then if that is so maybe living things are more beautiful when they leave that track and die a lonesome death…

Because the only thing which makes us human is our ability to build things, but our ability to build things is also the shackle that chains us to a track which in turn chains us to the unreachable carrot dangling right in front of us. This is a sanctioned happiness, accepted by society, yes, it would be much more beautiful if one could find happiness in what the world wishes to crush.

So how do you escape that cycle?

How do you escape what has even chained the White Princess of the True Ancestors?

How do you make the meaningless world…

-look meaningful?

_Through the neck, back of the head, from the right eye to the lips, upper right arm, lower right arm, right ring finger, left elbow, left thumb, left middle finger, left breast, from the rib to the heart, from the stomach to the abdomen in two places, left groin, left thigh, left leg, left toe, all of them._

In, an instant, entirely.

-My eyes reject the sight.

They can't believe it.

My ears reject the sound.

They can't bear it.

A crimson that is deeper than any sort of vermillion possible. It's a colour that only exists to stain whatever it touches including my mind.

The unmistaken-able sound of flesh tearing is the fanfare of the long journey to a place no one has ever returned to.

There must be something seriously wrong.

Eternity was just dismantled, just like that?

There definitely must be something wrong because if there exists a knife that can destroy such an eternity like her, then it should be able to merciless cut down this predetermined rac-

I rip my eyes off Arcueid Brunestud and concentrate them on the boy she is laughing with, the boy who changed the White Princess of the True Ancestor's world by dismantling her into seventeen pieces of meat.

He died.

Even now the memory is still clear.

_A claw now dyed red is plunged into his chest while a girl is screaming._

He died and that is what changed his world.

Even now, the image of what changed his world has not eroded. It will never erode, no matter how much time, or how many frivolities enter his life because even now it is still branded into a heart which should not be beating.

_A table is cut into two with only a fruit knife. _

I can't see what he saw when he died, and I cannot guess what he saw that changed him so much, but if there is a method to gain meaning in life, it lies within this boy.

_A gigantic legacy of bark falls as another fruit knife passes, almost elegantly, through a trunk._

Yes, I can see it.

Every time this boy did one certain thing.

Every time Tohno Shiki decided to do one thing.

_A full moon._

_The radiant moonlight illuminates the school grounds._

_His voice moves by itself, "It seems like I'll go especially crazy tonight. Everything seems to die easily, it's like I'm in the deserts of the moon."_

His routine…

_-He still cannot forget that cold, horrible nightmare._

_But because he cannot forget the warm crimson he also cannot forget that on that night…_

_-the moon was so beautiful. _

-was completely shattered.

I can almost feel the knife in my own hands as he cuts the Princess of the True Ancestors and most of all I can feel his sheer vigor. Mundane memories fade far away with time, so those which linger can only be called the defining moments of one's life.

This was an experience that was already in his past, but for me it is the present. An experience that is physically akin to orgasm and mentally akin to epiphany because it is at that moment I understand why humans kill. It's not a complicated answer at all. It's very simple and I am sure anyone would be able to understand it.

_Stomach acid drips over his lips. Passing out of the mouth, dripping down my jaw. Mixed with juices is something red. _

_"-It's all lies."_

It's our sexual urges.

It's our sexual urges that make us kill.

Of course it might be the case that the murderer has to commit murder to save someone. I am sure there are actions that you take even when you don't want to, yes; everyone does have their own reasons.

"_So you want to kill me, monster? Then, we have something in common. Fine. Let's fight to the death, Nrvnqsr Chaos."_

But when it comes down to it we are human because of our ability to make things, nothing more. So then it's our ability to reproduce which likens us to animals. For animals, life and death is nothing but a distinction made possible through instinct. After all, it's laughable to think a human would commit murder even after thinking everything through.

Why would I want this done to me?

What about this person's parents?

Won't I be found out?

So no matter what reason we might have for murder, during that moment, our reason no longer controls our actions.

And he's showing me the way.

_The Beast roars._

_With one arm, he dashes forth to pierce my heart. _

_"I see. You are going to kill me, human-!"_

He's killing.

And most of all, he's changing. He's changing the very world he lives in by killing.

Why couldn't I see?

Why was I, of all people, so blind?

Why was I, with a special pair of eyes which distinguishes my rank, oblivious to a truth grotesquely splattered across the news every evening?

Let's say I have someone I hate. So to change myself into a person who no longer hates I kill that person.

_-And then…_

_With a "ding dong," the elevator comes to the eleventh floor._

_The door opens. The small, steel box opens._

_Inside that box, crammed to the point of overflowing, is human flesh._

_Inside that steel box called an elevator. The red meat of humans is ground and pushed in. Inside, two black dogs are voraciously feasting away on something._

If there is a hell then that would be hell. Imagine it, a hotel, one of the testaments to human normality being turned on its head by what can only be described as monsters. Just like Tohno Shiki I stop breathing as the memories start the flow more and more clearly.

_If I listen carefully. They are the sounds of gorging, the chewing of meat, cries for help and the death scream of people which cannot even be called words anymore._

Yes, Tohno Shiki, in this hell you should have died. You should have been ripped into shreds by those monsters, but you didn't.

You didn't die because you-

_Thrust._

_He trusts his knife into the forehead of the black dog biting into his neck. His arm moved just before the black dog ripped through his throat._

_It was done so perfectly._

_Like a machine whose sole function is to cut he plunges the knife into dog's forehead without any useless and wasted movement._

-changed your world.

You told yourself, "_I die_" only a few minutes before this scene but you changed that. You changed your world and your destiny. You shattered the mundane, creating a hole in the track that now beckons me. You created a way where one is no longer chained by routine. It can only be described as a path where you will die a lonesome, but beautiful death. You became someone who can no longer be called human.

_Be killed._

_Be killed._

_Definitely, without a doubt, be killed._

_By nothing else, _

_and by no one else._

_-He will be killed by him/me._

A dim glow from the park that can only be called a sea of chaos lights Tohno Shiki's path. It's strange because he starts to laugh, laugh like an idiot, and all throughout his/my body: my nerves, my blood vessels, my cells, my blood; everything has gone abnormal. It's such a pleasure; it's such a rush, so much that my brain seems to be on fire. This feeling… yes, change my world, please change the boring world that I no longer have an attachment to.

"_I'll show you."_

In that school corridor which could only be described as a city drowned by moonlight, he showed both me and the boring existence that deluded himself into believing he had achieved eternity that-

"_This is what it means to kill something."_

And the blocks newly baptized with the blue, blue moon lose their meaning leading to the inevitable conclusion of breaking apart.

Yes, there can be no doubt now

He's right.

He's absolutely right.

If I could just kill, and kill, and kill, and kill, and kill, and kill, and kill.

Then I can keep changing the world around myself until I mold it into the world that I want.

At last I reach it.

The experience.

The tools.

The means to shatter-

Wakeup,

Eat,

Go to university,

Work,

Eat,

Go to sleep.

-routine, the enemy of one who has gone past what is means to be human.

_A knife,_

_A knife firmly in my hands, gently slicing things. These things, they're soft, they're wet, they're red. Yes, so much red. There's enough red here to make a lake. But the most important thing is the expression on my face. It's there, I'm enjoying it that's why there's a gigantic smile on my face. _

But I still can't do it. I can't smile now because I am a human and even though I have experienced killing… I am weak. So, without as much as a flourish I take my eyes off the boy who taught me so much.

The boy who taught me that life does not have to be meaningless.

Evidence?

He's smiling with that boring existence right now.

With my middle finger I shift up the pair of spectacles that now only are an annoyance. Even if I might not sound like it I am shaken to the core. My mind is chaotic right now and my knees are shaking. I don't know if it's from the fear of being so close to him or it's my own uncontained excitement. Either way I turn to leave the mundanity of standing around and waiting for a light to turn green. Instead I take the other road to return to my room where I can mull through the beginning of my metamorphosis and throw away whatever remains that makes me human.

"Goodby-"

_After saying that, he felt that he would not see her again. All that remained of her were many words and these mysterious glasses. It was only seven days, but she taught him things more valuable than anything else. _

_And he stands there by himself; he feels tears well up in his eyes._

_He could only say goodbye._

_He couldn't even say a single word of thanks to her._

So I will not make the same mistake.

Facing Tohno Shiki,

"Thank you-"

But even if I have arrived at his world he will never hear me:

"-sensei."


	8. into Saber: emperor and I

**into Saber: Emperor and I**

"_Humble days as precious as gold dust-  
>Where are the buyers?"<br>-Day 1, Fate/Extra_

Even so, like any other day, without fail, the stately sun sinks, drowning, overwhelmed by its own hubris.

That is a story which has been relayed through my family ever since Remus was slain by the wolf he called "brother." So it's funny, that is at least what my father always says, funny that the "wolf," so coarse and craven could create something like this upon seven hills. Mother says it's "stunning." Mother says we are lucky to have such a view, but I not that sure since tonight we're only going to have bread and vegetable stew and that is what we had last night, and the night before yesterday night. I like vegetable stew. I do like it… just not every night.

What I wouldn't do for some nice chicken. That tender feel being under my teeth and that satisfying sensation in my stomach after every bite, after every savoring, after every longing, until… bones. Only bones are left on the plate, white, gleaming bones with scraps, mere scraps of that precious, precious, fullness which is also inside of me filling me with both satisfaction and fullness. That fullness always makes me sleepy. But tonight… Probably for the rest of this "damned year," as my father likes to say, such fullness will not be in my belly because all that will be in my belly is this sinking sensation, a sensation that makes me yearn for more. If I were only the emperor then I would have everything and anything I wanted. One time when my father took us to the market place, we saw her. Her dress was very pretty; at least, I think it was pretty. But I didn't understand; I really didn't understand why everyone else in the market-place kept of referring to her as a man. She looked exactly the same as my mother, well, not exactly the same because my mother told me that everyone looks different and that has to be true since my father always told me to listen to my mother even when I don't want to. Like that time when I didn't want to eat peas or those smelly leafy things that smell like the thing my father calls "pungent." It smells like the dark green slush that comes from a cow's mouth after they have finished eating their food. I really don't want to eat something like that. It's not yummy at all. It makes all the thoughts about the fullness go away and there's a different sensation now which comes from the pit of my stomach. It… it wants to be like that emperor. I want that nice fullness; I really want it so much. I want people to cheer and be happy when I appear, like the people did when she appeared. It seems fun and fun things are happy things and happy things make you smile and smiling is good because when I'm not smiling my mother keeps on telling me to smile which is why, right now, that smile cages my attention.

It's too beautiful, so beautiful that I can almost say that it is sparkling even if it isn't sparkling at all. Yes, I'd have to say so even if I know for a fact that smiles don't sparkle at all, not even this one. And, since that is so, this sparkle, while actually being not-sparkle, is sparkling like the sun even if she is not-sun because I actually know who she, with the no-sparkling but sparkling smile which is like the sun but cannot actually be the sun because the sun is in the sky, is. I know all that, so why would she be here where there is no fullness and only green which smells like cow not-grass?

I'm sure anyone would rather be where she was rather where she is. I know that I would. I want to ask her that. And if I know her she isn't a stranger, now, is she? And if she's not someone that I don't know, a stranger, then I should talk to her right? That's what my mother told me, correct? She definitely told me, aren't I right? That I could not talk to anyone who I didn't know. But if I can't talk to people I don't know that means I can only talk to people that I do know and I do know her, don't I? I know her because…

"Oh, boy, what are you doing here?"

And because I know what she, but maybe not who she is, I…

"Speak, for you are in the audience of your emperor!"

"Thisismyplace"

-a jumble of words.

"Heh? Now, boy, how courageous or impudent of you to claim this region as your own, not to mention talk of annexing it from its rightful ruler. And to his face as well. My, my, I should have you eaten by lions for such impudence."

Hah? I try to move my mouth but no sound comes out. How can any sound come out when affronted by such greed and self-certainty? Father always told me never to be proud and always to know my place since the gods will punish me if I did not. Yes, my father has told me so many times that I cannot forget his words even if I want to forget. It's scary; it's scary that I can't forget those words. It's scary to know that others have such a gigantic influence on me who should be mine. Then, if I run through the memorized pathway which was beaten into me by routine I will conclude that she is a threat. She is a threat to the words which are, right this moment, bouncing around the walls of my head. I can actually hear them, there and there and there and there. They're loud, very loud, so loud that I wonder why she cannot hear these words when they are so loud.

But…

"You should say them out loud," A clear bell-like voice immediately halts the word which can only drop to the floor of my head, "as thoughts only exist to be shared."

It's not a voice like my mother's; guiding yet iron-willed from living. It's not a voice like my father's as well; rigid and filled with expectations. It's the voice of someone who knows that they are better than I am. A voice which tells me that no matter what or who I may turn into - I will never be better than this person because there is only one. There is only one emperor of Rome, and she is that one emperor. Yes, I can even see it in those not-smelly green but pure eyes because they are the opposite of everyone else's eyes which I have spied upon.

"My father told me always to treat others with respect. That means I have to think others are better than myself to earn their respect. Why are you then so..."

I am unable to finish.

"A wise man, your father. But that's not respect."

"But my father said…"

As if she is naturally accustomed to it, like how my mother knows exactly how to milk the cows, she cuts the words from my mouth.

"But your emperor says that he is wrong, and your emperor's word is law."

Oh, so that's why we use coins with her face on them.

"Your emperor says what you just described is not respect at all. If you keep viewing yourself as the lesser then one day you will believe your own words and in the end you will be viewed and will become lesser, correct? And remember, your emperor's word is law."

"-in turn they will treat you with respect."

"No, weren't you listening boy? The only dish that you will be served is disdain."

Disdain, hmm, I wonder what that tastes like? It can't be worse than that smelly green, could it?

"But admiration alone cannot feed the people," she starts to trace her only branch of thought, "however, if I postpone the beautification then there will be neither awe for the empire nor for me and both are necessary for the ongoing prosperity of this empire. So then, how exactly can I feed both the peasantry and also retain a grasp on my empire?"

Her words don't quite make that much sense to me, but she's actually quite worried isn't she? Well she's worried enough to escape that glistening palace I think she would call her home which I want to call home instead of this crag at the end of the world which I have become tired of but cannot leave because my mother once told me that home is where the heart is, but my father corrected her by telling her that home is here and since here is home, home has to be here because our world is here even if he is paying too much; for the fodder, for the moo-moo's, for the baa-baa's, for even the oink-oinks which love to sleep in the mud for most of summer. They smell. The answer's here isn't it?

"Your, emperorness, my father once told me that the man to lower taxes for the people would earn his respect much, much more than the emperor who flaunts his army or constructs states of himself. Sorry your emperorness, I don't think he knows that you're actually a lady."

The puzzled flecks of that black stuff which is the end of a fire even if they are are still quite hot and a bit reddish which are in her eyes starts to glow a healthier red. My father once pointed out a man that was scary because he smelled disgusting and told me that, "He has fire in his eyes. " Marius told me that no one could ever have fire in their eyes because the fire would burn out the eyes. But the man did have her exact look in his eyes.

She can only stare at me. She can't believe that she, an emperor of all people, overlooked something so trivial like that. She must be shocked like my mother is when she finds out that barley now costs three of those coins which jingle when people shake them more than it did three days ago.

"I see…" she nods with those golden threads of hers. I can find no other description of them other than golden because once upon a time I gazed upon a fine golden thread. It was a farmer's trophy that he showed me after I had mucked out the stable that old Rufus really needed mucked out. I can just see it, the hair on her head is not coarse like my father's or mine. It's not exactly the wavy kind either, the wavy kind which I find on my mother. Fine, spidery threads of golden glistening in this sunlight will not be seen until tomorrow because the sun has fallen because of its hubris. Too beautiful. This scene is too beautiful that it does not belong in my eyes. This emperor of Rome is too brilliant, the leader of what my father says, with a hard look on his face: "this fair city."

"Yes, I see. You tell me to earn the admiration of the people by helping them; rather than appealing to the. It would do me well to show my benevolence to those I rule and consolidate their love for me in that manner." She gazes, almost wistfully, at the sun, now only a crescent since the rest of it has been eaten by the horizon. The sun's the one at fault though… because of its hubris, at least that's what my grandfather said before the bull ate his soul.

One, two, three, silently I count the delicate movement of her head. It's a sort of tap that seems robotically similar to the novelties that my father and mother will never pay for me to enjoy. I want. I want. I want but I can never have.

"Thank you," The two spring grass eyes regard me where they should have pierced through whatever was left of this body which has not and should not have lasted the five years I have sprinted through, falling twice, maybe three times along the way because there is only green that smells and I cannot have, and do not want, it inside of me, which is why I, like the all the women who for some reason or another wear black during funerals, wail to prevent the loss that I will gain because of that green which smells and is unlike the green which should have pierced me, but instead regarded me with such a look that it makes me sick as if I have just eaten that green which smells.

"I doubt I'll ever see you again; after all, I am an emperor."

And…

She doesn't disappear, as if abducted by the wind. I don't think she's humble enough to make such an exit, but I know that since we come from different worlds…

-I don't think we should and will see each other beside the end of the world ever again.

* * *

><p>For that reason I know that it is safe to return here where my heart lies; therefore it is also where I lay my home.<p>

In this world that is slowly moving in one direction…

In this world where nothing can be still because everything has to be going, this crag at the end of the World is my world.

So with that said, I think that I have grown a bit older even though I haven't actually grown any older. In that respect maybe I don't actually want to grow any older than the 5 years which I had lived until these crags became where my heart lay, even if my parent's farm has been growing, even if my parents now don't have me eat that smelly green. And the emperor? He's the same as always and because she is the same as always he won't return to the place I return to.

He?

Yes, the emperor is a he; the emperor is always a he. Titus told me. He's great, Titus is, he knows so much about the world. His father's a priest and he tells me about the gods.

What are gods?

Well my mother and father just pray to the god of the sky, Jupiter; the god of the sun, Sol; and the goddess of the grain, Ceres; but there are so many more. Titus's father told me about them and how we must respect them because they're so powerful. But… that's disdain. The emperor told me that path I described only leads to the dish known as disdain. I tried telling Titus's father that, I really did try… but he just laughed and said that his teachings were as old as humanity itself and how a mere country boy like me whose father and mother were mere farmers trying to contradict someone like him was… I think he said blasphemous.

That was the moment I knew; I knew that my father had been wrong. That stoic, stern man who had taught me everything that I knew was absolutely mistaken.

Because we had been humble to the priest,

Because we never questioned,

-we had subordinated ourselves until he utterly believed that he had complete dominion over us. And he did because we would always be humble towards him. He held the rope that we use to make sure our cows do not run away and we were the cows.

So, my father was wrong and my World crumbled.

So, my father was wrong which meant the only person who could be right was the emperor who I will never see again.

He told me that, and I believe him now. I believe him because he was right about having to eat a dish called disdain if I kept of pursing the path known as subordination. And because he was right about one he must have been right about the other. So even if my father is wrong, my glistening, like the sun on a lake in midday with the cicadas buzzing and me sitting there just staring, just staring, emperor cannot be wrong even if he is standing right here in front of me, yet again, even if he/she told me that she would never appear before me again.

Again I don't understand.

I don't understand because she is always right because she is the emperor.

"Do you know… that I was born when the day just broke?"

I really don't understand. Did she just say that she was born when day just broke? How can the day just break? I know that the sun falls later in the day because it is filled of hubris. After all, it has just sailed half the sky. I'm sure that it could keep on going if it wanted to and I'm pretty sure that it wants to. But being the sun and seeing so much, it must think that it knows everything, but even the sun cannot live and love unconditionally, knowing everything. So it falls, it falls into the horizon which swallows it up and rids it of that hubris. The sun repeats this mistake each day. So I cannot understand why she said that she was born when the day broke. The day cannot break like an egg breaks. After all there is no yolk in a day. There is only the emptiness that it brings because my mother cannot milk the cows, feed the chickens, and cook what is no longer that smelly green.

"I take pride in the fact that I was born just when day broke. It's such a romantic idea, to be born just as the sun starts to peep above the horizon, so then why can't I take pride in the fact that I was born? Why do I have no love for the people that bore me?"

My mother bore me. My mother bore me and that is the only reason why my father tells me to listen to her, no matter what. I love my mother because she bore me. I love my mother because my father tells me to listen to her. I love my father because he told me listen to my mother. I love my father because if I do not love him all that will fill my heart is dislike. One time he killed Ovidus even though I spent a whole month taking care of her because her leg was pecked by a fullness which is now in my stomach. So it should come to no surprise that the emperor also does not love her family.

"Even if you loved them… what good would come of that?"

"Then maybe she wouldn't have killed herself. If she had someone to love; if my mother had someone to cling onto, if my mother… then maybe she wouldn't have died like that." She's roaring at the sun which is already filled with hubris. I am sure that the emperor's words will fill it with even more.

"But since you don't love her, do you want her there?"

"I cannot believe that boy like you is comforting an emperor like me," She shakes her head. "No, I do not think I would want here; after all, she was only interested in herself and used me as a tool. She hid my gender to allow me to obtain the throne. She gave me to Claudis so I could obtain the throne. 'All for you,' she said. She should have said 'all for me.' She was a witch in the most brutal of terms and deserved her death."

And they glint, like jewels in the sunlight. The only jewel I have ever seen is the jewel with Titus's father has encrusted onto a statue of Jupiter. It was a light blue gem which made me recall the sky, not because it was light blue, but the milk which wrapped through the jewel reminded me of the milky clouds that float around the sky, travelling the world. But the only difference between these glints and the jewels are that these glints create paths on her otherwise stately face.

"Yet, you continue to cry for her."

"I'm not crying for her."

"Then who are you crying for."

"I think I'm crying for myself."

I nod.

It's hard to cry for someone else because my mother told me once to put myself in the shoes of Marcius who I had hit. I couldn't put myself in his shoes at all. In the first place I didn't even have Maricus's shoes. So I just stood there dumbly nodding to my mother. I hope I was listening to her though, because my father told me always to listen to my mother. But it's easy to cry for myself. My father hits me when he sees me crying because apparently crying is a bad thing and that crying makes me less than a man. And I have to be a man because of what is between my legs which makes a puddle when I feel a stretching near the bottom of where my hips meet my waist. But other than that crying for myself is easy because the knots near my heart loosened up. Of course it doesn't solve anything, of course nothing happens other than the sound which makes all the pecking stop and starts the squawking but it sets my heart at peace as I know when I cry that I am able to feel something, at least towards myself anyway.

"Isn't that enough then your emperorness? To be able to cry for yourself. You have no need to love people who you do not wish to love. You have no reason to mourn their deaths. Mourn is a word that Titus's father taught me your emperorness. If your family doesn't like you for who you are… how does that affect you?"

"But," her voice starts to be become shrill, like a sheep when it reaches fever pitch. "My own mother committed suicide, and I just allowed for the assassination of my very own step-brother! What does that make me? What have I become? I never wanted this life. I don't want to be a killer. I know that it is necessary but I don't want that at all."

"Then give up. Give up and fall into Pluto's arms. I know I am only a child but even I know what to do in that situation, my father told me to never give in even if you are beaten to a bloody pulp because Julius is so much larger than you, but my father is always wrong so then… the answer is to give up. I'm sure that many other people want to be the emperor of Rome. Your emperorness, I think I want to be emperor of Rome."

A peal of bell-like laughter.

"So you want to be emperor, boy. You, of all people, want to be emperor. Even if the emperor has told you what a horrible life she leads? You still want to be emperor."

She laughs.

She laughs like that dirty man on the side of the road who likes to eat mud.

She laughs like that ragged woman who once told me that I would destroy a dynasty, whatever that is.

"So, people still want this cursed seat. It's still valuable. I can't believe that it is still worth so much. Which means… if I lose this seat what will I become? Lucia died. Lucia died the day that Nero was born. So I have nowhere to return to. I'm trapped, aren't I? Mother did you foresee this when you brought me to the palace? Yes, you foresaw this, didn't you. That's why I had to cast Lucia aside and all that remained was Nero. This Nero. A Nero that I can no longer escape. Is this your curse? If this your curse mother? The curse for the daughter who could not be the son that you wished for. If so…"

She is absolutely raving.

"If so, then I'll show you. The populace loves me, that is enough. The nobles want my seat, that is love enough. I will be your Nero, mother, I will be the Nero you wanted and cursed at the same time. I'll break through your cage because, mother, did you hear? Did you hear with those ears of yours which could only listen to schemes and rumors? I do not regret your death. Why? Why you ask with that mouth of yours which only spit out honeyed lies? Because you made Lucia. I am not longer your Lucia. No, you're the one who transformed me into Nero, and let me tell you this… Nero is not Lucia and because Nero is not Lucia… I don't have to care about you anymore."

I don't know if this is sad or not...

But from the glistening that in her eyes I know that this is something because whenever "something," happens to my mother which is extreme, she has that glaze in her eyes as well.

"Boy..." It's a call, made without any of the madness displayed before, "You have seen a shameful side of your emperor. That in itself is a sin. And so I will have you forfeit your life."

I don't move.

To move is to die.

To die is to never stand here again.

To never stand here is to deny myself of my only wish.

And that wish is important to me.

And that wish is important to the five year old boy just standing here waiting for sun to completely overwhelm itself with its hubris.

That is wish is merely to live because that boy no longer needs to eat that smelly green.

"Then... before I am to die, will you... could you... just a song."

The boy know that the emperor will give him this final request and so do I.

How?

Because the conclusion for this emperor who I admire so much is uninteresting. Just look at her, standing there, all-so-fulsome in the crescent of the sun.

"Of course, i-if you really want to hear one of my songs so badly then I do not think of it as an unmanageable last request."

And the moment she moves her mouth I know that she will fall. Like the boy who tried to fly with wax wings, she will plumet into the ground and lead that uninteresting conclusion.

Why?

Because I'm not looking at her.

Because I'm not listening to her.

I only have eyes for the sun that has now been swallowed up by the horizon.

The cause of death?

Hubris.

It's fulsome.

Such a death is completely fulsome.

But if it's her who is now proclaiming that before her status as an emperor she is an artist who rivals Apollo and a chariot driver that rivals Sol… it's fitting, it's definitely a fitting end for a tyrant like she.

So for now, I'll sit back, me, the boy who did not want to live for more than five years, and listen to the emperor sing her epic because there is still time. There is still time to grow, there is still time to chase what could not or what I did not want to chase. Same goes for her as well.

Again, I cannot get it out of my head about how fulsome that it seems, prostrating ourselves in this manner towards the future. Is that why I didn't want to grow up?

If so then it's fine. I don't have to grow up. I don't even have to be liked. Why do I need to be liked in the first place? It is not as if I am the protagonist to an epic like the one that the emperor is repeating to right now. I'll decieve the world like I decieved this emperor and in that manner I'll live.

I'll take it, I'll take it all, all the disdain, all the humbleness, all the everything that makes this world move. And in the end, when I meet the same uninteresting conclusion as this woman in front of me. Well, it'll be so uninteresting that I think I'll probably fall alseep.

So for now, so for now I think I can allow myself to listen to her song.

I deserve it; after all, because she is so absorbed in it that she forgot she told herself that she was going to have me executed.

Oh...

I just realized...

Why did I call her a he when she was so obviously a woman?

* * *

><p>They've become regular haven't they?<p>

These visits by her to the crags at the end of the world.

Is it fitting?

That right now she is gripping those golden threads crying "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, make it stop, mother."

She's really pitiful.

I would go and comfort her but she would have me executed and I can't have that happening to me. No, after I told myself that I was going to live because her conclusion was to be so uninteresting that I could not be interested at all. The only disappointing part of that is that I am going to live an uninteresting life as a farmer which is the reason why I am here on these crags five years later, but that is digression.

To make her comply with her mother's orders... the Emperor's mother gave her poison with every meal. It was a different type of poison unlike the ones that we are familiar with. It didn't kill the Emperor instantly; after all, that wouldn't serve the Emperor's mother's purpose. Either way, every time she took the poison she would be given the antidote afterwards, so when the Emperor's mother committed suicide… she must have taken the antidote to the grave. That's cruel.

Is it?

What was her purpose?

What was her goal?

Why did the Emperor's mother make our Emperor into the Emperor she is today?

If one thinks about it that way…

-then it's not cruel at all.

Just think about it.

In giving birth to our Emperor, the Emperor's mother gave her a purpose. A purpose that the Emperor's mother thought that at any time she could take back.

The Emperor had nothing.

In fact, one could say that she was nothing.

The Emperor's mother gave and made her something.

So then... the Emperor's mother never loved the Emperor. She was only a means towards an end and nothing else other than that.

A tool.

That would be the only word which would describe the Emperor life.

She was only a tool.

I want to laugh at that.

I want to laugh so much at the woman who was known as Agrippina the Younger.

She's an absolute idiot.

A tool is a tool only when it is a tool.

Like my hoe.

Or, like my shovel.

A person can never be a tool... no, let's rephrase, nothing with a soul can possibly be a tool. Of course, this is a very Christian thought, and right now the Emperor who is gripping her head right in front of me is tossing Christians, left and right, to the lions. But I have heard them talk, and at least the part about a soul makes sense... no, I should take it a bit further than that.

Everything in this world, whether it be people, animals, or even dirt, they have an impulse. Call it the conception point. It is not a soul but rather an impulse.

How do I know this?

One time, during a thunderstorm the sheep, those pathetic puffs of white which can never match the piercing white of snow were frightened. But even if they were all frightened, they didn't do the same thing. They were all "individual" so to speak. Most cowered, some just kept bleating, some did a combination of both. They were boring; after all, how could sheep ever be interesting?

Either way, the conclusion was that nothing, not even sheep are exactly the same, which means...

-there is something in us that moves us.

A primal impulse?

Something which serves as the beginning for everything. But I digress since my whole point was to say that the Emperor Nero could never have been a tool. If her primal impulse was to actually be a tool, I am very sure that she would be a tool which someone would use. But the Emperor Nero has a life, she has a life which she, like everyone else, even slaves, can call their own.

I don't think that's something to be proud of, but it's something that one cannot underestimate, much less forget.

But isn't that what Agrippina did?

She forgot and that uninteresting conclusion was her end.

"I said that I would forgive him."

Between the rasps of her tears she tries to find an excuse which will satisfy the hole in her heart.

Again, as the only person here, I should be comforting her but like my father told me, I am a cold bastard whose heart is coal. The Emperor had a bigger impact that I thought she would, splaying at the world like she did those five years ago when I was still at my most impressionable age, 5 when I should have been 10. That transformed me into the man I am now, it's just a little disheartening.

"I told him that I would, so then..."

Is it because I find pleasure in seeing this emperor suffer so?

"S-Sen...eca."

Then why would I only do it on these crags which I call the halls of my heart. Either way, I've kept myself quiet enough.

"My Emperor, allow me to speak,"

Yes, through the years that Titus's foolish father has taught me, I have become quiet eloquent.

"Could it be that your beloved mentor Seneca killed himself, not because you couldn't forgive him, but that he couldn't forgive himself for the actions which he had performed against the glory of your empire?"

"Why is it?"

Her no longer ashen starts to meet mine.

"Why what my emperor?"

She furrows her brow as if trying to recall something that she feels is out of place.

"Why have your words changed. The last time we met, even if you spoke so few words... the words that you did speak were so beautiful. Now your manner of talking has changed and there is something that has definitely been lost."

"I-" I'm stuck for words. I've never been stuck for words before. "After meeting with you the second time my emperor, I wanted to be worthy of your precense and for that I have studied long and hard to arrive where I am today. I found you as glorious as the sun which is being swallowed by the horizon as we currently speak, and merely wished that the next time we met, we could do it as vassel and emperor. If I have displeased you in any way... I greatly apologize. Please excuse the brutish wish of a child who wished to be regarded by his emperor."

But that piercing green never softens.

"I love beauty... and I also love valor. They are the only two things which I truly admire. I love them so much that made my own "Nero Games," I am sure that you watched them."

I nod.

"But I lament, boy, why is the world so ugly? It's filled with such beauty, everything and anything can choose to become beautiful... so why, why does it choose to become so ugly?"

I smile to myself.

I don't know why I smile to myself, but I sense it has to do with something important.

"So, my emperor," I proclaim to the sun which has been swallowed, "Go out. Go out and see the World. Find new forms of beauty outside the empire, and where there is no beauty, fill the world with beauty. Perform for them like you did for me and the others of Rome. Yes, my emperor, there is a world outside these seven hills which is just waiting for you. Find it."

Her expression brightens and for a second I could believe that the sun was still making it's pilgramage across the sky; rather than searching for a place the fall down and drown in it's own hubris.

"Yes, you are right boy. Seneca told me to look outside my world, so I will."

She turns and I remember that ten years ago that I said that she could not be abducted by the wind because she was not humble enough, now I think that she could not be abducted by the wind because if she was...

-she'd be broken into two.

* * *

><p>And so, in that manner Rome burned and the World burned with it.<p>

No one knows the cause.

No one knows the reason.

The only thing left in the cinders was the undeniable fact that Rome did burn. It burned a few weeks after the Emperor left on her journey. So if there is something that should be blamed for allowing Rome to burn it should be me because if Rome burned because she was not there... then it is my fault. Yet, nothing has happened to me. I don't feel guilty because I don't feel anything at all, just a quiet, somber, patience for that Emperor to once again show up upon this crag at the end of the world.

She will come.

I know she will come because it began here so it is only fitting that it should end right here. The years that have slipped away should not weary us nor should they deter us from finishing what we started here which was a mere observation, a proof perhaps, of whether the sun falls because of her hubris. I don't that was my intention in the beginning. I don't remember exactly what my intention was, so the only thing that is important is that I know that once upon a time I did have an intention.

Yes, the world still moves forward bounding towards it's uninteresting conclusion, one that I will have my own part to play, but right now as I stand here gazing at her Domus I just wonder... what happened to her faith in the populace?

She was so sure wasn't she?

Even when the Senate gave her a vote of no confidence, even when that general decided to betray her, why didn't she do anything to consolidate her power?

Was she just stupid?

No, I doubt she could ever be stupid, not her, not the person who I have chased and waited for my whole entire life.

Don't get me wrong. It's not love. It's definitely nothing as violative as love.

Love which twists.

Love that bends.

Love that reveals who we are and puts us in the mercy of the other party as if shouting out, "Here it is, here is my heart, here is my core, here is the payment for your interest in me."

So then the only emotion I can think of is amusement.

It's fun watching her.

Just fun, nothing else. It's a bubbly emotion sprouting from my core which extends through the fifteen years which I have know her.

It's fun seeing her stumble.

It's fun seeing her fall.

But if it was just that it would be sadistic of me, wouldn't it?

So then it can't be all amusement then.

"Heh, so it seems I don't quite understand it myself," my whisper drags through the Roman night sky, why I felt like voicing those thoughts is unknown; after all, isn't it redundant to voice words and think words at the same time? "Either way, too late..."

"This is fidelity, isn't it?" That same weary bell-like song. "That's a nice line... I think I shall use it."

"My emperor, you have arrived. I have been expecting you, I have been expecting you for five years now."

She simply smiles at me, the smile of a person who will die the very next day so, deciding to humor her we sit at the edge of world and decide to talk about senseless things. They didn't just have to be about things that have happened already, they were also about things that might happen. Maybe she was just grasping at straws because she could see her thirteen steps to the gallows, but we just chatted into the night.

It's surprising, and for some reason I am proud of her. She doesn't beg, she doesn't ask for me to save her. So…

"Do you have any regrets then? About your empire and how it turned out?"

She just stares at me, possibly her final ally in this world, "Of course, of course I have regrets. I don't think that any person can go through life without any, but you know what? I'm okay with that because in the end I stayed true to myself."

T-This... slightly disturbs me "What about all the terrible things that happened, my emperor? What about the people who you did so much for?"

And for the first time tonight, showing an expression befitting a beaten empress she declares, "It was my greatest error to love them in a way that they could not understand. I can no longer call you boy anymore so you should understand what it means to love someone or something. That love is unconditional; it is freely given and freely taken. It's a very convenient love in my eyes, one that almost seems worthless since nothing is ventured and; therefore, nothing is truly gained. My love is different… it's not better… it's just different and I think I should leave it at that."

She starts to get up.

But I have to stop her.

I still have to ask her something.

It's the reason why I have stayed on this path for fifteen years now.

"Nero, would you exchange your life for another?"

The first time I use her name, the name that will be scared in the books.

"No," it's a simple reply, the very one that I have been looking for. "I think that I have lived a blessed life and I would not change thing."

Ahhhh, so that's the reason the sun falls into the horizon every day only to travel the exact same path each day. There is no hubris. There was no hubris from the beginning.

The sun moves through the same path each day…

-because it's enjoying itself and has no reason to deviate from its current path even if it meets such an uninteresting conclusion.

And slowly, in the same crimson dress in which I first met her, the tyrant of Rome leaves the crag at the end of the World, ready to meet her death.

I smile sweetly to the moon that is just starting to rise.

"Yea," it's a rustic sound, as if the boyhood is back in my voice, "I guess that wife who I don't love and the child who always cries are waiting for me."


	9. into Lancer: night on the Blood Lair

**into Lancer: night on the Blood Lair**

"_Absolute power corrupts the truth.  
>The thirst for truth causes a lust for power.<br>Through my eyes I perceive the folly of humanity."  
>-Chimeric Sea 4, FateExtra_

It was him. I know it was him. Oh, the pity of it. Oh, just the pure pity of it. I can do nothing against that monster. I am not allowed to even get close to that monster because of where he lives, but I know. I know his secret, his terrible secret, one that tears at the fabric of our society. I liked my life before he came here; I wasn't happy, but I wasn't overly burdened either. Then he used his dark magic to take the throne. What a joke, we were all sure he was dead. We had seen his wife throw herself from the castle, surely if he was truly human he would have died in grief. Yet, here he is today. He is not the son of the Dragon; no, he is the son of the Devil. The same one he claims to abhor so much. And he is the one who took my precious son's life from me. Oh woe. Woe is me. He was such a lively baby, the prettiest little thing anyone had seen. All the neighbors came to visit him, and my husband was so proud. He was just so proud when the baby was born. If you could just see the look on my husband's face. I-I had never seen him happier. We're a simple folk, nothing ever happens here, so it is these occasions which make the town livelier. But that changed. My warm, bubbly child, turned cold. As the week grew longer, he grew weaker and weaker until he would no longer drink the milk I had spent so long preparing for him. I was grieved, I still am grieving, but I have learnt now. I have learnt to turn that grief into anger. There is black magic at hand. Such an event would have never happened last year, but now… now is different from back then. So I curse him, I truly curse him who has killed my baby with his dark magic, and how do I know it is magic? Why the priest said so. The kindly old priest who never asks for the full tithe, he is a person that everyone loves and everyone respects. He is the one who held the funeral rites for my poor baby. Oh, just the pity of it. If only that black-hearted devil could see the coffin. If only that black-hearted devil could see what happened that day. The priest even shed a tear for the baby and after the funeral.

"You child shouldn't have died. These are dark times for us."

A holy man said that my child shouldn't have died. God Himself wanted my child to live, but no, no, no, no, no my child died. How can my child die when God Himself wants him to live? It is the work of a Devil, a devil that sits upon his throne sipping blood. We all know the rumors; I never believed them until today when I finally realized it is no fault of my mine or my husband. It is the fault of that man. That horrible ruler who we all thought was so great when he warded off those heathens. Now I curse his name every night. I curse him for the future when his dark magic has shattered. I curse him so much that I believe his curse will come true.

* * *

><p>On the edge of existence he hears the wronged woman's pleas. He knew that this would be the place he would begin his journey for the conclusion that even he could not predict. He is aware of the rumors lurking in this corner of the world and soon, his thirst shall be sated for a night.<p>

* * *

><p>I did tell her that her child shouldn't die. It shouldn't have. But that's not surprising. I pity her; I really do. She was unable to conceive for many years, so when she gave birth she was so happy, just so radiant. But these days that sort of hope is instantly crushed. Is it black magic? I don't think so. That sort of power is nothing against God's grace. I have seen miracles performed. In my younger years I actually went to the Vatican and saw the Pope himself heal a dying man. But at the same time I have seen the darkness; curses, plagues, and pestilence. But not something has horrific as this. Not this sort of perverted worship of our lord. He is a monster. He cannot be called a man if he has the stomach to do something like this. Never in my life had I witnessed the cruelty of such a man. Once I thought if there was evil in this world, it lurks in the heart of men. Now I know that evil exists. It exists, personified as our ruler. The heathens call him Kalizki Bey and even they feared him as a devil, not as the protector of our god. He is the worst kind of devil, the type that calls himself a protector of Christianity, and in his acts… He is trying to protect God and protect us he by applying his own sense of justice, his own dark, dark justice which no one understands but him. He is not a product of God. He is only using God as a convenient tool to preach that he is righteous. He is the worst type of man. He is the worst type of demon which is why when I heard that story I wasn't disgusted. Two priests met the lord; he asked them if what he was doing was righteous. One cried out against him. One told him he was doing something monstrous. The second one died. He died for telling the truth. The second one died for telling the lord what God intended him to say. From that story I can and will conclude that such a man is evil. Such a man is a devil and I would rather have heathens protecting our country rather than a demon. To be ruled by a heathen is to be ruled by no god since there is only one true god. The god the heathens believe in is non-existent; therefore, they can be changed to believe in the one true god. However to be ruled by a devil… I do not want to the live through that evil even if I currently am. A demon can never be changed, a demon only knows evil, a demon can never know anything that is good. Where did I hear that story? The rumor about the priest? Why the undertaker who I work with told me.<p>

* * *

><p>It's not enough, it's still only a rumor. He understands the malice behind the rumor, that will do nicely. However he does not have a base. More, the Dead Apostle which has become a phenomenon wants more. More what? Malignant information, of course. It wants this country to writhe in malignant information because it is that information which heralds his arrival.<p>

* * *

><p>Business hasn't been that great this past year. I understand that with the war going on there is not much need for an undertaker. Of course I get the steady supply of old men and still-borns but it is the young men who die in accidents that helps bump up my income. With them dying in war and being buried in mass graves… who needs me? But when the new lord took over I thought business would be better you know? That maybe there would be peace and people would peacefully die and I would peacefully receive money for burying them. Being around so much death and seeing it lowered to the ground every day makes me appreciate the good things in life, food, drink, and a woman once in a while. No one wants to be the wife of an undertaker, so I get what I can with the coins that I can spare. I'm not proud of it but I get what I need and that's good enough for me. I'm an undertaker, after all. My father was an undertaker as well. In those days the undertaking business was booming with the plague going around and everything. These days we have him. We have our gracious lord. Our gracious lord so gracious he just impales people. He impales them and leaves impaled for all his enemies to see. It's gruesome, it's absolutely disgusting, and now I cannot bury them because he wants to leave them up there. They are state enemies. I understand a lord who wants to kill his state enemies, but I do not understand a lord that won't have a burial for his enemies. That's just highway robbery for me. And it is the boyars that are being impaled. The boyars who are the ones who splurge the most on funerals and pay a little bit extra. They are the ones who are being impaled. It's inhuman. So inhuman. I'm trying to make a living here and there you are in your la-di-da castle impaling my potential customers. Really, our lord is devil, is what I told to that priest, bless his soul. The man worked with my father, and now he works with me. He's a family friend who we have had around for dinner many a time and sometimes in the pub the boys all buy him a round. He's a darling old man we all adore, really. But even he is angry at his lord of ours. I couldn't believe it when the old man started denouncing the lord during the last burial I did. He was… extremely verbal about the lord. I think he even went on the verge of treason. Men of god are made from different stuff than us commons it seems. The way I think of it, it's all that learning; learning this, learning that fills their heads. But you see… A head is only so big; therefore, it can only be filled with a finite number of things. Eventually there is too much stuff that you have to let some out. That's the dangers of learning to much and why those holy men need to preach. Yup, I'm very sure of that like I am sure that this lord of ours is a robber, cheating me out of my business by impaling people, what a riot. Like my coffin maker says: "The less impaling's the more business for us." Yea, he's my best mate. Actually he's the only mate I got left. You see the others went to war. I'm sure they're dead… another reason to hate that lord of ours. He's brought nothing but bad luck to this country. His brother was handsome though….<p>

* * *

><p>The whirlpool of malignant information starts to form. It starts as a small point, but as the information starts to seem more and more concrete the point expands. And soon the city will be bathed in its own blood. However there is still no base. He cannot find the base of all these rumors, where could it be? But the head of a family known as the "soul hackers," merely quietly follows the path of these rumors.<p>

* * *

><p>Why did I even go to the capital, Targoviste? It's an unholy ground, a place that seethes with evil. An easy job I thought, a job which would win me favor I thought, stupid me. I'm glad to be home, just so glad to be back here. That place was nigh hell, perhaps that place was hell. It certainly looked like it. The sky was so red, such a deep red that I could lose myself in it and covered with carrion crows, some crows so obese that they could no longer fly. They had eaten well, those crows and would have more to eat. Sure it was a great place for my business, people were dying left, right, and center. The ironic thing is that a place is absolutely fit for a casket-maker like me, but it's not a place for me. A place that is fit of a casket-maker is a place not fit for a human. Those are the words my father left me who also told me those were the words his father left him, so I guess those are our family words. So I worked hard, making caskets here and there to get out of that hell back into my wife's arms as soon as possible. But I can never erase those scenes, just waking up and smelling the air would make one vomit. Many did. No one came out to sell things, it was simply too risky. If the morality inspectors found something they deemed were disgusting then the person was simply impaled on the spot. It was simply too cruel. The man who had ordered the casket was a boyar, an existence above me who was a man who had served the king and was given lands, he was… nice, for a boyar that is. Usually they treat us peasants like dirt. However this one, he seemed genuinely sad and just wanted his brother buried. The man had been impaled because he was a boyar. It seems our lord extremely hated these nobles. I didn't understand why, but I did not need to understand. That man is evil, that man is devil. He is destroying this country no matter what he is saying. Everyone in the capital knows this, yet they are too scared. Who will replace this man? Will it be the heathens on our door? No one is sure, and it is that uncertainty which makes us drop our heads and follow along like livestock, even this boyar who retrieved his brother's body. That is a crime punishable with impalement because every crime is punishable with impalement. What that boyar did was courageous; he risked his own life because he wanted to see his brother buried. Such an act is admirable, but it means nothing. These little acts of defiance only make one feel better about himself. These actions do nothing for the public at all. As for me, I can do neither, because I am only a weak human after all.<p>

* * *

><p>A link is established and the rumors become more concrete. An impaling lord? That will serve as the base for his play, there will be no need for other actors since this is his premier opus. The Church only knows that the former Atlas alchemist has been in contact with the Eclipse Princess of Black Blood, and the alchemists of Atlas that do know of his ascension are trapped like rats in their pit calculating a way to escape the calculations they themselves proved were the absolute certainty. If it could, the torrent of malignant information grins, ready for the binge of blood.<p>

* * *

><p>He's a monster, an absolute monster. I have always believed this, but now actually looking at this scene I can truly understand how evil this man is and how much perverse pleasure he finds in this act. I know no other reason why he would go out of his way like this to display these gruesome scenes to his very own people! This lord of ours does not wish to be loved and respected… wait, perhaps he actually believes that such atrocities like these will gain him love and respect from the public. Maybe he believes the ends justify the means? He's not wrong, in my career I can agree that most times the ends will justify the means like sacrificing a village to save the country, but not this. The sacrifice of a village is small when taken in respect to a country. It is a cost people can understand. It is a necessary evil that is done quickly and never is it glorified. This monstrosity is nothing but a perversion of that quick evil. I don't think anyone could understand why someone would want to preserve that evil and put it for display. Therefore, on that logic I have to classify him as a devil. He killed my brother and it is for that reason I am standing in front of the field of death today. My brother may have been a traitor, he may have deserved death, but he didn't deserve this kind of death. I hoped that the lord would understand having his own brother that has become a heathen, but the lord didn't and my brother was impaled. Even if he was boyar, even if he had served Wallachia for all his life, he died, just like that and was set upon a stake to serve as an example. Rule by terror, it maybe bring peace, but at what cost? What is peace when the cost is death because you did some minor misdeed? It is not peace at all. It is a festering wound that one day will explode into civil war. The people wanted peace; we wanted a convenient brand of peace so we were rewarded with this monstrosity. He is the devil incarnate and all sort of rumors are spread about the man. I personally hate him. I can understand him or at least I think I can, but I have to let him know that what he is doing is wrong and that his brand of "love," will bring nothing but pain for him. If I am correct though it is too late to tell him that, he is already overwhelmed by madness and there is nothing for us to do. His name is already spoken as curse, the populace talks of him as a blood-craved madman. All that is left for me is to accept this fate which has been delivered to me for taking my brother's body off the stake, and giving it a decent burial. He was a horrible brother and a horrible boyar, who tied our family name with betrayal and luxury. I'm not even sure why I gave him what even a base person deserved. Perhaps it was completely for self-satisfaction. I probably wanted to know that I could do something, even with this man on the throne. It was selfish and it was rash which is why I'm paying for it with my life. I turn to the captain of the guard by my side and the soldiers that are ready if I try to escape, but I won't. It's a fate that's I've accepted right? Those childhood days roam into my head and I wish that I could escape back to my past.<p>

"At least you'll have a lot of company up there."

The Captain of the Guard breaks my concentration with that remark. It's utterly disgusting, those words that treat me as if I am just another corpse on a stick. It's truly remarkable that men can degrade themselves when given orders. But he's right, he's one hundred percent correct. I am just another corpse on a stick. There will be no one to save me. I tell my body to be prepared for that fact. But the truth is that even if I am ready, even if I have accepted what will pass, even if I have confessed to my crime, the words I told that coffin-maker still stand,

"I don't want to die."

Pure words from the bottom of my heart rush through my throat and brush my lips touching the corrupted air mixing with the blood of this field of "roses."

And then the pain.

* * *

><p>It is at hand, the cry of a man dying has attracted the torrent. The rumors of murder, the rumors of torture have drawn this mid-summer's dream closer and closer into reality. There is a base for the blood-feast, but no actor. A stage is nothing without the people who will act out the parts. Therefore the malignant information collecting has not reached its end, it's end will be reached when the actor, the lord of Wallachia is found.<p>

* * *

><p>"I don't want to die."<p>

How many times have I heard those words?

How many times the faces which say those have words wake me at night?

I do this to preserve justice. That is what I have repeatedly told myself.

I do this because I love my country. That has become my mantra.

Yet, I cannot but doubt my lord. Killing his own people like this; does he want to destroy this country? He told me he wanted everyone to be happy, and I believed him. What sort of happiness is this? This is simply inhuman, this is simply cruel, and I am left to believe the ruler of this country is insane. So the only question I should be asking myself as the captain of his guard is "why am I still following his instructions?" I think it's because I believe in him. I believe that this sort of "peace" is manifold better than the battlefields which I have sprinted through. Do I still believe that? Do I believe that peace like this is worth protecting? I don't know I am caught upon two roads, two crossroads. I promised myself never to delve into the past again, not after that incident, but the now which was created because of that past, do I want it? Do the people want it? And if they do not want it, how can it be so that their tomorrow will be better than their today? That is why I continue to serve this monster. No one understands him, that's for certain, because we are thankfully nothing like him which is why I can only understand a dying man. That boyar did not think wrongly, he shouldn't have died, yet I still insulted him, why? Because I was scared of that boy's fate. His fate was one that I would have to meet one day, and I do not want to meet that fate, so I distanced myself from him. Yet, under the rule of this Lord we are one and the same aren't we? The Lord views us all as mongrels that live for his purpose. He thinks we are nothing but his puppets preserving a "peace," that definitely cannot be called a peace. People won't speak out either because they like me do not wish to return that past, the past we fought so hard to escape. So we are left to stagnate and die in this so called peace. It's a worthless life yet, everyone who has been impaled has said the same thing, "I don't want to die." Is life so precious that they would stagnate in this manner? Surely they would be better off in Heaven, away from this man we call our lord, this demon on the earth. So then I have to ask myself: "Why aren't I dead?" And I shake my head looking at the fresh corpse of the boyar who has just be been impaled. Crows are pecking his glassy eyes now. Because even living in this manner is precious, isn't it? Even a life like this is worth living. The lord promised us peace and peace is what we received; a twisted peace, a perverted peace, but a peace nevertheless. It is our fault for believing that such a monster could supply us with the convenient peace which we wanted. So if we want to live, give up. Give up all hope and live. That is answer that I have come to and the answer I have been living with all this time. This is no longer the time for heroes, we have seen so much bloodshed that even if this sight is so horrendously hideous it is nothing compared to those times. So for now we live, even if we have to curse ourselves.

* * *

><p>The captain of the guard who curses himself adds self-pity to the malignant torrent of information. It is almost ready. He has traced the malignant rumors that spread through this country. He has heard of all the suffering and all the evil that has occurred and even if he is nothing but a whisper at the moment he will make it come true. All the suffering, all the pain he will actualize it and make it become reality for one night. Yes, for only one night will this production be open to the public because after that one night, no one will be alive in the town these rumors have originated from. Now it is time to cast the lead.<p>

* * *

><p>In the beginning I wished to save them. That wish has not changed. They all looked away though, the betrayers with their knives. They killed my father and eldest brother, and I brought them to justice. Justice is all I can obtain now. So the question that has plagued me from the beginning has been "how do I establish peace?" I didn't know how to. I prayed to God, I prayed and prayed but no answer came. So I went with my own path. I applied my justice. People want justice, people want to be happy. The good people of this country want nothing to do with the criminals, so I impaled them all. The good people of this country want nothing to do with the poor, so I burnt them all. I love my country; I want to see it grow under the grace of God. I don't want anything defiling my country, so naturally I had to get rid of anything that is wrong with it. I gave the people peace, but they didn't understand. They didn't understand the gift I was giving them. I only want what is best for them. They've had to suffer through years of war and years of famine. What sort of ruler would I be if I didn't empathize with these people? If you take away all the evil, if you just take all the evil away then everything left is good, but you cannot spare any evil, even if that evil comes from something you love. So can't you see? Can't you see with those eyes of yours? I only do this because I love, I love so much that I am able to keep doing this. I know this method is bettering this country. I am sure of it. The rate of crime has gone down and now people are safe. All the evil in this country is steadily being destroyed. I do it out of love for my people, why can't they simply just understand this? I took up the mantle of "Dracula" to protect the country I lost in my childhood. I took up the mantle of Kazikli Bey because I knew if I was hated the country that I loved would love me back. Yet why can't they, you, see? All I wanted was a conclusion, a conclusion to the cycle of pain and suffering, all I truly wanted was peace.<p>

* * *

><p>It's sad. If there are any remnants of the personality known as Zepia Eltnam Oberon within his TATARI he would see how familiar they are. Perhaps Zepia did calculate the similarities and that was why he decided to start his journey that would last a thousand years here. The man as pitiful as the phenomena; they both are chasing an ending that does not exist. They are both chasing a conclusion which is out of their calculations. But they are still chasing it; chasing the impossible by destroying their own worlds. And with that, the torrent of malignant information is complete. In the end the base was merely a lamenting man imploring others to understand his vision. Such a pitiful base for such a horrendous legend even so, this will be the night where legend and base are blended. This will be the Night of Wallachia.<p> 


	10. into Caster: evil

**into Caster: evil**

_"Where is the belfry?  
>In that moment, gentle days end."<br>-Day 3, Fate/Extra_

It's the hurt.

It's the pain.

It's the Die, Die, Die,

-which corrodes the body and changes the soul into a raging tempest, an all-encompassing storm which not only rips, but also forever tears since it cannot be satisfied. How could it be satisfied? There's too much hate, perhaps enough that it will never fill this never-ending storm of death and evil as the heart of a ghostly lily starts to crystallize into the stone which does not discriminate in its killing. So in that respect, it is not ironic that the wails of the eternal goddess of the sun have become the death curse which pervades through the land.

Why?

Why does it hurt so much?

Laying here is the darkness which embraces me, lover to victim. I want to tell it that I don't want that; however, that's impossible.

Why?

Oh, I don't have a mouth which can utter those words to the world.

I don't have a mouth which can roar the fact that I really don't want to accept the darkness, so with a voice to utter my base needs, I must accept it, like the moment I see my death streaming towards me.

Oh... Why didn't I notice sooner?

It just must have been so cold and dark that I didn't realize…

That just for tonight, your brother is just so beautiful.

And you, my deep, blackened death, are so ugly...

* * *

><p><em>I think I have become accustomed to it. This is something that is great about humans; they can adapt o-so-easily. There isn't a need to romp and rave. They don't blow up villages and send typhoon around the world when they don't get their way. They just... accept whatever is coming a-<em>

"Shut up!"

As if they were probes, these digits of mind dig further and further into my scalp as if trying to scratch out that accursed voice which is inside my head.

Increasing my intensity I scrap and scrap and scrap and scrap believing that maybe, just maybe, that I can take that voice and become myself again.

On these plains that will be forever filled with woe, my name becomes my mantra. I have no destination as despair dictates the direction in which I will progress as there will never be any salvation allocated to this pitiful woman with what seems to be fox ears.

But that's not me.

I refuse that accept that is myself.

Usually I'm not like this at all because whenever something bad happens to me, I laugh it off. I laugh it off so that it won't bother me even though it lingers around me as a fog of misfortune, gesturing me towards every blunder, every slight, every drop which seeks to curse my entire being. I laugh it off regardless. I laugh it off because it hurts. I laugh it off because even if it hurts I cannot allow such a trivial misfortune slight the soul and the smile which lays me bare before him. If that is the case then of course this is the only time where I cannot laugh it off. This being the time when there is an infernal voice in my head that I cannot win against as it is corroding the existence known as Mizukume.

How so?

Because the garrison of soldiers that have just be pursing me is now nothing but char.

* * *

><p>Without as much as a whisper in the wind they arrived, so it's natural that I was surprised even if I shouldn't be. I know what they're after. They're after the life of this cursed body, a vassal for this hate filled "thing," which instinctually rejects anything that is "human." So the action committed by this "thing," when it is provoked by a garrison of soldiers is obvious, isn't it?<p>

No, the world was not set on fire that day for neither the crackling nor the smoldering ever happened. Rather, my world simply became red. Red as these hands become, saturated with the sins and evils that have tore out masses of flesh on the orders from that-which-is-in-my-head.

It hurts.

Not my head, but my heart.

_Because of this hideous pain I didn't notice them among the soldiers. Thinking about it now, the eternity which is known as the moment of surprise, I really should have noticed it before; after all, these specters with darkness for mouths having been chasing me ever since my escape from that isolated worldlet. It's a darkness that is more eternal and never-ending than that of Yomi._

"Shut up!"

I cannot believe that such a shrill scream could come from the mouth of Mizukume, the ever-quiet, always humble, timid and timorous Mizukume. So my only conclusion is that the voice in my head is already refracting my actions.

Ahhh, so it's hopeless then.

It's really hopeless.

I know, I Know, I KNOW.

I know I should be cheerful.

Yes, I know.

I know that you know that I know.

I know you smiled at me and said that someday we would be standing in the same place.

-I think it's every girl's dream to be told that, so I must say that those truly were… dream-like days.

But I'm sorry because we can no longer reach that "idea."

And because we were so close to succeeding…

-is why this is much more painful.

Toba.

* * *

><p>They explode into action. The parts of me that have lain dormant through my life but have risen the moment I was cursed into loneliness. No, they're not a part of her.<p>

She can actualize miracles as she is connected to the very earth which she moves with the wave of my mere hand.

This effect though can only be called an explosion; however, it is not one which rocks this world. In fact, it would be strange if it rocked any world at all so that is why I need more.

"-"

Their bestial roars mute any sort of incantation which was uttered.

They're ravenous, their slit-eyed hunger is accented by the abyss they would call their mouth. In fact, their entire being can be said to be composed of only a "mouth." No body, no mind, no soul, only hunger fills their essence, only hunger as...

_Do you want to live?_

It's...I...

They close in so I can feel the hot, salted, stale, rotten breath simply rolling, rolling down until my world is filled with darkness.

TOBASAVEME

"Kyyyyyaaaahhhhh!" It's completely shrill.

SAVEMETOBA

There is no way a life which was aimlessly spent in the soft luxuries of the court is ready for some like this, so...

But he will not save me. He will not save me because he is not here.

HEWILLNOTSAVEME.

That is the only truth that is of any consequence which currently exists in this world.

So then...

"_Who do you have?"_

Shut up.

"_The World is your enemy, child_."

Shut up.

"_Do you want to really just want to be saved?_"

Shut up.

"_Or do you just want to live?_"

Shu-

But I can't finish that statement becuase I really, really, really...

-just want to live.

So into the mouth it goes, a silver sliver of death that is completely absorbed. Yes, this is a darkness that is capable of that; but then, what about two silver slivers? What about three? What about all ninety-nine deaths all evenly crammed into the abyss?

The only route that the abyss can take is the one of destruction.

The abyss is rent into a thousand disgusting red pieces.

"_You see?_" The voice oozes superiority; however, that is only the result. There has been no intent to be superior. Then it can only be a fact that she is superior, so as if thrusting that undeniable fact down my throat known as 'there is no way for a human to surpass a god," I am hurtled into despair because...

"Aah, what a fool I was."

And slowly, even if I tonight, I know that the moon is so beautiful, I collapse among the golden grasslands of Nasuno admitting myself to the aching lulls of "You've come a long way," and "What a rough journey that you've had."

It's annoying.

Their lulls are annoying.

Their calls are pathetic.

Undoubtedly those chiming voices are not directed at the courtesan Mizukume, but at the jackal goddess hybrid that is defiling this body of mine. So these crystalline tears are not tears that rally against whatever fate the world and the gods have allowed for me to wallow in. These are tears of anger and most of all, tears of farewell because I know the moment I awaken the simple girl who loved Toba will be gone and replaced by a changeling.

That's scary.

That's scary because the only thing that I have known for my entire life is leaving.

That's scary because that also means that I'm dying.

I know that it is fulsome, but…

-I don't want to be replaced.

* * *

><p>We met.<p>

We fell in love.

We were happy.

Three sentences are enough to explain his and her story.

I know that it is my story as well which is why I am not longer speaking differently from her, Mizukume, the courtesan who loved and was loved by the emperor Toba.

Her story ends here, and this is where my story begins.

First, I would like the say that I am a fool, but the again so is she; after all, she was who fled all she knew and everything she loved just because she felt that she "wasn't human" anymore. That makes sense though; to operate in human society one must be human. It is the only pre-requisite required to the uncolored force which is the consensus of human-kind.

Humans, they're so depressing. They lead struggle, crawl on the ground, hurt, and eventually die with nothing but despair in their hearts, yet why are they so happy?

But by devoting themselves to someone like me, they feel they are saved.

I think I want to feel as if I am saved.

Call it borrowed.

Call it false.

Call it an unreachable goal for a goddess, but I still think that such an ideal is beautiful.

Even now it still bewilders me; maybe I feel like it is an ideal that I should strive for? But what do I have to strive for? I'm a goddess after all.

Sure, in the beginning I felt like it was some sort of "Goddess' Burden" to help these tiny humans out; however, I'd like to think that sentiment has changed even though I am sure Mizukume cursed me right until the death of her consciousness.

"I only want to help," I say.

Shut up is the only reply I obtained.

"I want to make it that your tomorrow is happier than today." I say.

Get out of what is mine and only mine is the only gratitude that I receive.

Why?

Does the person one chooses to serve have to special?

It is wrong to continue devoting your whole self to someone who wishes that you were dead?

Is that masochistic of me?

It is fulsome that my devotion stats the boarder on fake even if it is the most sincere thing that the goddess Amaterasu can supply to you?

I should have stayed in my celestial cavern, shouldn't have I? That way I would have never woken up that long month ago... and tried to cut these ears of mine off.

"Kill the fox demon!"

Flat, uninteresting, all eighty thousand of that subjugation force sent by the one who Mizukume loved can be described as such. There is nothing to say to those eyes which have been twisted beyond measure by the shifty-eyed king of lies.

Yes, if there is nothing to be said…

-Then I'll just have to beat it into their bodies.

* * *

><p>Happiness can be found in serving someone.<p>

I'm sure my actions are mere emulation and because they are merely emulation they can never become "true."

But does that make my actions any more worthless?

So I can never forgive him.

The shifty-eyed Abe no Yasuchika from exposing me in front of court and taking me away from the only happiness that ever existed in my life. It can only be called something which is unfair, he only wished for a scapegoat for my beloved's sickness which he could not heal.

How petty they are, humans. For themselves they'll do anything. If that is so, then what's the point of trying to serve one? Doesn't that make me as bad as they are?

Could I really believe that all this would happen while I was sitting in my seat in Izumo?

Wasn't it because they were so depressing?

Wasn't it because their circumstances were so dire yet they were smiling?

Then I can't understand.

I can't understand what went so wrong; I won't understand how everything fell down if that were the case.

* * *

><p>The ground, it doesn't feel right. It's muddy, that's for sure, but it's a different kind of mud. If one were to squeeze mud it would let out a trickle of dirty water. That is why whenever one walks on mud it squelches. However, I don't think that this mud would let out a trickle of water when it is squeezed. No, the only way to describe this land is by saying that I am sure that it does not need to rain the next few months because the grass has an ample supply of blood to keep it growing. Yes, this is a field that has become saturated by blood.<p>

Crimson paints the skies and washes over the fields. The foxes, yesterday, so eager to help Tamamo-no-Mae, are now busy feasting on the remains what was.

"I'm sorry," even if they tried to kill me I cannot help but express my sorrow for so many lives which have been meaningless lost.

But most of all I have to express regret and the thing which has been lost, the one thing that I still believed linked me with the place I once called home and the girl who was called Mizukume.

Today, I lost my humanity.

I tore through the ranks of those soldiers, killing and reaping. In the face of my enchanted hide and my death shaped claws they could only fall onto their minds and die. And eventually they were choking on their comrade's blood. And all the while…

-I actually enjoyed it.

I actually enjoyed showing these humans in their place; showing them a despair which they could not hope to escape from. Yes, me, who was just a few days ago was a timid girl who could not raise her voice, actually enjoyed that.

* * *

><p>Today it is raining.<p>

Each droplet which falls has a metal tip which tries to rend my flesh, so, essentially, nothing has changed.

They're still there, waiting and trying to kill me.

Yes, I've realized a few days ago that they won't stop. They won't stop even if I entered one of their dreams and begged for my life.

Even if I know I won't die, I don't want to die.

It's so useless, dying like this just because someone said that I was "not human." I haven't served anyone yet.

"I wasn't trying to fool anyone. I'll leave now, so please just forget all about me." It's pathetically begrudging.

I was torn away from the people that I loved.

The people that I love are trying to kill me.

Hah, if this is not a tragedy I don't know what is, but maybe I should have known from the beginning. The world has a counter-force for things like me. So maybe it's not Abe's fault, no, maybe he was being controlled by something else because I have broken divine providence.

Even if that it is true that is of no condolence. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I just wanted to help them prosper? So why would the World view me as a distortion and lead me to these arrow-washed plains in an attempt to be rid of me? Why does the World have to be so unfair?

I'm sick of killing, I sick of having to wade through a lake of blood. I know that I can no longer return to the place where I used to be and all that will remain are the memories of a time that I can only now curse.

Even so…

Even so…

Where is the justice in all this?

* * *

><p>They just increase in volume.<p>

They will never run out of arrows. I do not know how they are doing this, but since they have started they won't stop until they have exterminated one of the land's greatest monsters, a nine-tailed fox that isn't even a fox.

They're selfish aren't they? They're trying to get rid of something so they can live safely. Actually they don't even know that if they get rid of me they will live safely, that's what makes it even sadder. Like, sheep, like a herd, always investing in the potential, never trying to reach what is actually there. They waste their whole life trying to protect the potential which can never be achieved. How fulsome they are, telling themselves that they are merely protecting what is, when they are truly just grasping at a fog they can never actually reach.

My tears have dried a few nights ago because now I know there is nothing that I can do if I really don't want to kill them. I may have actually enjoyed killing them, but that doesn't mean I want to turn into a monster which lives and breathes death. No, if I truly wish from the bottom of my heart to serve such creatures… I have to believe in them even if, right now, they are spraying arrows into my despairing body which cannot continue to supply the prana it takes to protect me. I am sure I could draw some from the great mother that is underneath me; however, I couldn't possibly do something like that. Especially not now as humanity no longer considers me as a mediator for the Earth, but rather a cold-blood monster that threatens to existence of all humans who are alive.

I could laugh at the irony of a goddess who only wishes to serve humans and ended up as a monster to those humans, but then I would only be laughing at myself and my pitiful situation.

Where did it go so wrong?

Why did it go so wrong?

Why is this the result of my action, my blood-soaked self flitting between life and death on an unforgiving golden plain surrounded so much hate that my heart is crystallizing into a symbol of hate?

And it hurtles towards me, a single ray that is lit by me. I stop and marvel at how it glistens due to my reflection. The glowing tip and the shaft which carries it has such intricacies carved into it that I can't begin to make out what sort of magecraft went into making such a sublime piece of death. Yes, this is the very arrow that I saw in my dream. I guess then one could call it the arrow of my dreams.

It's so beautiful that for one second I actually don't mind that it will be the very instrument of my death. Indeed, how could anyone hate such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and not marvel as it arcs through the sky and into my heart.

* * *

><p>I should have seen it a long time ago, not just now as the grounds or my blood stains my coat. What type of omniscient being am I if I could not grasp something so simple?<p>

How narrow-minded they are.

How much hatred they hold.

How self-righteous they can be.

And, how-

How truly fragile and inhibited, yet precious, their lives are.

Right from the beginning, I was wrong. Like humans and their religions I had my perspective influenced by my beliefs.

Slowly as the darkness begins to take me from myself I simply nod to myself.

"There is no way for a human to become a god."

And if that is true then…

"There is no way for a god to become a human."

This is a relationship which forever be bound by inequality. There is no way that one side can emphasize with each other since the very thing that we use to emphasize, the very scale which weighs our worth, is ourselves.

Humans respect us and through various priests try to understand and be one with us, so that's why I thought that it was possible for me to do the opposite. But I couldn't see that my path didn't work, simply because the reverse of my path didn't work either. Both these paths only lead to wasted effort and crushed dreams.

So I scream.

I really should be laughing about how ironic and how tragic my life has been, but I scream.

After all, this can only be the tale of a goddess who has been deemed unworthy of the gift of humanity and cast away from those who she loved by the very people she loved. I'm just a pathetic child who admired humans too much for her own good.

But that's not the reason I'm screaming.

It brings me joy to be an important part of someone's life.

Everyone wants to be needed and loved; even if I am not human I would not think that I am an exception to that rule.

So if we gods who love humans have to protect them at the cost of our despair then so be it. If so, then I have no regrets even if Mizukume does. There is nothing in this world which is free. The basis of magecraft is equivalent exchange, so this scream is not one of despair. Even if it will create a spider-lily killing stone that will destroy everything on these plains, my scream will never be of despair. It only exists to imprint itself into the world asking it never to forget my tragedy, and supply guidance for other gods who love humans.

Yes, if my mistake can lead them to a brighter path, one where they can co-exist with these narrow-minded beings… I don't think that even Mizukume would have any regrets.


	11. into Assassin: second Strike

into Assassin: second Strike

"_Human existence is filled with unimaginable despair.  
>But still the whole of humanity fails to see this.<br>It is in this obsidian darkness that illumination will come."  
>-Chimeric Sea 5, FateExtra_

Drip.

With a splash the red blooms into a rose.

Drip.

With a trickle the rose is instantly mutilates, creeping into various crevices.

Drip.

I'm sure that if there was no sound, this scene would be less eerie but sadly that is not the present which my eyes gaze upon.

Imagine returning from a training journey and finding that the pupils who you thought would be waiting for you at the door were not there; it's not like they were not there and were somewhere else, but rather there is nothing here. There's no sign of anyone.

The air is different because I can also smell the strong scent of blood.

I run.

I ignore the red and run towards the darkest depths to run away from the bad feeling that I have. I run through the corridor, turn the corner, slide the door, and enter the familiar room.

It's there.

The scene before me can sadly only be described, given my occupation, as common.

"Ma-ster." His voice is shaking.

I don't know what happened.

All I know is that my pupil is staring at me, glassy eyed, barely breathing at all.

"…Thank the heavens you're back, master… at last… they're all."

-I don't know what he intends to do with his dying breath, but he's talking to me normally even though he has a wound that should make even talking impossible.

"Stop talking… Damn, I have to stop the bleeding."

There is no one else that is here, the dojo has been swept and all the members have been killed or injured.

"A poultice. A poultice and some – no, they won't do. Doctor, I need to get a doctor."

"No. Master, I will accept my fate so I don't need a doctor, neither does anyone else here. There's something more important than this."

He's calm; he's completely calm even though he should be screaming in pain, so I have to listen. I don't know what he's on about but I nod, thinking that, just for now, I have to listen to him.

"Master, we're sorry that we could not protect this place of learning."

For some reason that finally calms me down.

All my pupils are dead or injured.

The dojo is destroyed.

"Who did this?"

He nods, as if somewhat satisfied that his final words will the words which will avenge him and all those that he held dear.

So, with a stuttering breath, the professional killer becomes an avenger.

* * *

><p>The date changes.<p>

With the help of the villagers who supply us with food in return for protection we treated those who were injured and buried those who are no longer with us, made dinner, and ate it silently as if holding vigil for those who could no longer partake in earthly sustenance.

But I don't want that.

I want to rush out into the wilderness and find the man who did this to those I call my sons. I am not calm. I am not calm at all. Even the gentle breeze which lifts the smell of blood off of these sacred grounds can no longer calm me.

My blood thirsts for revenge.

Not revenge for myself, not even revenge for those who have passed, but for revenge for the man who I have failed. I need to exact vengeance for the man who I called son and that vengeance can only be completed by killing the man who I have failed.

It's contradictory.

They are the same person. To fight for one means to kill the one I am fighting for, but that cannot be helped. There is no need for rationality. Rage consumes my blood. It seethes and scorches, turning my insides into blight. I want to hurt those who have hurt me.

The calm wind blows again, but is unable to smother the burning sensation that is now fused with my body; in fact, that burning is fanned by these winds.

So I push myself off the ground. There doesn't have to be a reason why I would do something like this. The bestial can be all that controls me. I know what is right and what is wrong. So I will choose who is right and who is wrong in this conflict and punish those who are wrong.

And after seeing my students brutalized in such a manner, who else could be more wrong?

* * *

><p>It's so high above this land which can only be called the top of the world that I can hardly see it. A speak moving through the heavens which serve as a gateway to another world. The days have been as long as the suns have been short in this desolate world where one can only fall into the sky. Falling into the sky, I'm sure that will be the fate for one of us.<p>

I tracked him down. It was not hard to do so. The man I once called son became what could only be described as a homicidal maniac. Not a person, but a storm, a natural disaster in which one could only blame his own luck for falling victim to. He left behind so much debris, town after town, that it was an easy task following him. It would seem that he did not care about being found, no, he only wanted to reap the lives of many. For what purpose I am not sure of; however, a mad dog must be put down.

"Master," he nods at me, betraying me with a title which he can no longer use.

"You killed them, you killed your brothers. There is no excuse for that. You killed anyone that you passed on your way here. There is less of an excuse for that. I have tried to teach you what is right and what is wrong. You know what you have done is wrong. "

"But Master, don't you see?" His hand has a vice-like grip onto his face. It completely distorts his almost handsome face. His robes are disheveled; they haven't been taken care of at all as there are dried blood stains all over them. This is a man who has sunken in depravity or even worse, madness. "You see, I have to kill them. There's a part of me, deep inside of me that has become me. It wants to kill them, it wants to take lives. I have no idea why it would want that, but now that I know that it does, I must even reap YOUR LIFE!"

He rushes at me, his face warped with some kind of inhuman rage that befits an "unfit existence," like him.

For once, for just this once, I will "pick up the sword out of passion."

We're ten steps apart but I can reduce that to nothing with the "moving step," a step which sneaks towards the enemy without announcing its speed, one of the more dangerous skills in Baji Quan.

But he knows that and will not let me reach the optimal distance; he starts to pound me with his fists.

All of them are blocked; there is no need for me to worry even if I am fighting out of pure exhilaration. This is nothing more than a reprimand and then an execution.

He steps forward, the solid dirt booming under the impact of the palm with attempts to plant itself onto my chest. Using the "Eight Postures of the Buddha Guards," the sheer force of his strike should be as if a bomb has exploded onto my chest.

But an imitation can never beat the original.

It's a purely defensive skill, one which etches a spiral in the air nullifying the force which should have crushed my thoracic cavity and mashed together my heart and lungs.

He hasn't improved at all. If this is level of fighting which has taken out all my disciples then I should be very disappointed. What sort of ruse must have he used to kill so many?

Then all I have to do is to heighten my chi.

Without any thought the earth, protesting with all her might, is drilled into by my foot. The force shakes the whole mountaintop and the results are gigantic protrusions that push outwards from the epicenter to flatten he who must be killed.

He doesn't care.

Without any thought of retreating he rushes into the disturbed earth, it's truly reckless, but even with the mind of a berserker I cannot help but admire the tenacity of such a warrior. He jumps with his fist outstretched and ready to pound me into submission.

The moment he does so he will die. He is unaware that I have charged my "chi," and have reinforced my whole entire body with that "chi." It's not mystical, not like the tricks which those magicians at the courts perform. This is pure skill, something which anyone can achieve with enough training. He has not achieved this level so…

A sharp pain fills my entire body. A fist that should have been stopped and shattered moves forward into the yielding body which should have halted the blow, outright.

My body ploughs through the backside of the mountain.

He?

Injure me?

If he is capable of this, then which one of us was the pretentious one?

Awkwardly I get back up and ward off another strike that cannot be warded off naturally. His movements have completely changed; it's as if another person has taken over his body because he can only be "hearing" the move. It's not that a regular human couldn't see my moves, but rather it is that they should not be able to react in time to my moves, yet here he is, reacting perfectly with the desperate flailing that my arms can only now perform.

"Hearing" a move, predicting where the next move will be purely in the brief moment when the previous blow is blocked. Something which I can perform and now it seems this boy can perform also. If he has indeed reached the point where he can "hear," my moves, it is no coincidence that he was able to destroy all the disciples in the dojo. But something still doesn't feel right. Just because someone can "hear," a move doesn't mean that they can fight like a different man. There must be something else.

But it's too late for me to find out what as I am beaten, I have moved all I can move and all that I can now do is to show an opening. All paths lead to defeat so then the only thing that I can possibly do is to…

I change my feet's position and roll forward towards my executioner hooking one of his legs from the inside, in a move knowing as the "locking" stance. He stumbles behind allowing me time to breath.

"You… You're strong now. You're not like the others though. I remember you. I remember you crying because the others beat you and that you thought you were useless. But now, now you're different. How do you do it?"

"Master, don't you see?" His voice is almost frantic. "I learned that I was merely seeking out strength. Strength to do this, strength to that. I was pitiful, looking at everything and everyone when I should have looked inside. Yes, I'm different, Master. When I look within, my body changes. That is true strength."

I have travelled many lands and have seen many things that I would rather forget. I know what he is now. I know why he acts in such a way. He's not a demon who can never return to what he once was, he's just a human. A human that was born to protect humans, yet somewhere along the path… he fell.

He grins to himself and I note just how confident he looks while I am charging my chi. It's high time that I should have wiped that look off his face.

He rushes in only to be met by my outstretched fist, but he's above that, I know. His body has changed into something which is completely geared towards battle. I'm sure that he doesn't even need to breathe. His body has disposed of everything that is "human." Not that he has become inhuman, merely the aspect that is known as "human," is gone from his body.

To the left, a fist like a whip bends itself towards me. The only way to defend against that would be to block by pushing his fist away from me trying to create an opening and then exploiting such an opening, but I told myself that I'd "pick up the sword in passion," so his strike is only met with another strike.

Since his body is now one which has been perfected for combat, he blocks because that is the best course of action. He barely has control over his actions. Right now it is his body which is determining which is best the way to fight for him which means he is only dragged along in the process.

Skill and technique were made to offset brute strength. He needs no skill, he needs no technique simply because his body is the best. Skill will never surpass what it was created to equal, but skill can create a tiny opening where brute strength cannot because when one goes against an assassin's fist… defense is completely useless.

If I broke the ribs that should have been broken he pays no attention to the excruciating pain.

If he is flung back in the method that he should have been flung back, he races right towards me.

There is no doubt on his mind; there can never be doubt in a mind which is only consumed with one thought. So that is why when his fists reach my own fists I realize that he won't stop. He will keep on pounding my flesh until I have become a sack of meet. That is not speculation, but a prediction based on, not any type of data, but, the surest thing in the world, my instinct.

He's strong. I'll give him that, but he's only strong, nothing else. He moves in the most efficient way, blow to blow, because that is all he knows. He takes my blows without flinching because that is the only way he can take a blow. So, he's incomplete, he's mechanical. That is not his body fighting, but something else's. Of course it is a great deal stronger than my body; after all, everything in that body was bred for one purpose, "killing," and yes, against any sort of person it would be a trump card. Something that would be used once, just once, at the most important time to allow one to catch the opponent off-guard, but that's all it really is.

There is no beauty behind it.

It definitely isn't sublime.

It's a tool, and it has consumed the man I once called son to the point where it is using him. He's drowned himself into what he calls power.

It's overwhelming.

It's something a normal human like me can never hope to achieve, and if I had a word for him, it would be monster.

But, it's also ridiculously pitiful.

Even as I am being beaten to the ground by my pupil.

Even as my body and spirit are being methodically broken.

Even as my rage beings to consume itself.

I can't help but hope to teach my pupil something.

Flung like a rag doll my body, narrowly avoiding falling off the cliff, hits a large piece of rubble. My sense of pain has already numbed to the point where I can get up without any twinge of discomfort, but my shoulders are already drooping. It really shouldn't make sense as I am in my absolute prime.

*Cough*

My breathing starts to get ragged as flecks of red dirty this sacred mountaintop. The air is rather thin here, so it was always a test of endurance. I had hoped to use that to my advantage, it's too bad my enemy's something who no longer needs to breathe.

"Ow…" An utterance from my own mouth.

My hand is on the ground holding my crouching body upright. When did I fall?

I don't know. Everything has become a blur. I don't think I can keep this up anymore. Even if none of my skin broken, the inside of my torso is torn apart. My arms are almost useless; they can probably only each handle one more attack. My legs are worse, there is no way I can turn away and run.

"Master... you're going to die here." He says so, oh-so-calmly, almost in a therapeutic drone.

Yes, I've been through enough to know that I am going to die. I run my less useless through my fiery hair.

Only one more attack is all I can perform.

One more and then I can no longer defend.

So I will take in all my rage, take in all my hate for this man.

Future?

Who cares about that? All that matters is the face right in front of me is pulverized.

He's not in the same position so he has moved. We are definitely not in the same position, for the man knows not pain. Mere injuries will not burden him, nor will any wounds condemn. I am sure I have shattered both his arms and have broken that leg with my locking stance yet he is swiftly moving towards me right this minute, ready to pluck my heart out. I'm sure his blood vessels could alter the flow of his blood, pumping, changing, warping the very essence of his being which is right in front of me ready to completely crush me.

I rush in, meeting him, knowing that these three attacks will be my last.

But his body completely reads them, he knows that these will be my final attacks; or rather his body does not feel that these final three attacks are any sort of threat. Either way, his fist closes in and I can see the next instant where my redness will fruitlessly add to his redness only to be washed away by the ages and the future redness of others.

But I wouldn't be a master if I couldn't cross this barrier.

For a second, just for a second, I focus my chi and take the heavens so I can blend them with the earth. It's utter vitrification. Yes, in the moment when his fist is supposed to meet my body I perform my ultimate technique. It's not one which instantly decapitates. It's neither one which harms nor destroys. It is one of the only useless prides that I have. The only useless feat that I can perform is to stifle my presence so that none can see me.

It was only for an instant, but it's enough for that battle machine to become confused.

It was only for an instant, but it's definitely enough for me to drag myself through the cold wind which is beating me back to…

-unleash the stalking tiger.

There is no winding back, there is only action. My fist, crushed and on the verge of breaking, is reluctantly thrust into the chest of my pupil.

The moment that my fist makes contact with skin I know there is something wrong. I can't move. I can't move my fist anymore. All the bones in my hand and arms must be shattered.

But I no longer care as I am "picking up the sword out of passion."

While my right fist is firmly in place, unable to be dropped or moved I instantly move my left fist forward. Even if he could "hear," my moves there was no way that he could block them. Also, even if he had defended himself against my current flail, the guard would instantly be broken.

*Crack*

It breaks.

It breaks because it did something that it should not have done. There are boundaries in this world that cannot be broken, natural laws enforced, not by others but by the World itself, upon our existences. This pain is just mere retaliation for trying to exceed those bounds.

But I don't care.

The twisting of my body allows me to pull back my left fist until it is dangling uselessly by my side.

It's not enough though. This is nowhere near enough. His head is facing the ground and I cannot read his expression at all, but I know that it is not enough to even kill a normal human, so…

It roars.

It's the red penalty which tells me that I can no longer progress. It has already covered my right arm and has also covered the bottom half of my left arm. I don't have anything left. Both my fists can no longer flail at this man and the moment I move my legs I will eat the dirt that I am trying to avoid.

What was it that he said?

"When I look within, pfft, and my body changes. That is true strength."

Ahh, those words which I believed to be foul beyond measure. They return to me in my most disparity and mock me. "Look within myself," he said. It doesn't matter as that type of observation can only be described as narcissistic because there should be something more. There should be something beyond just my fists if I am truly a master of my martial art.

No, it's already there. It's just that I can't see it. This martial art form was not limited to only my fists in the first place. It was my ignorance which stopped me, not my body's natural limitations, so then the answer lies beyond what cannot be used.

And that moment…

Using my left leg to pivot, I direct as much force as I can allow into my elbow and smash it into my opponents face securing the victory that I had believed to be out of my grasp.

The breeze stops, the finality of the last blow must have ended whatever was causing such a pathetic fallacy. But as the breeze stops and the earth beneath us no longer shudders at our strikes, I won't accept it.

The final strike should have tossed him like a rag doll past the edge of the cliff. He should have fallen into the sky, not continue to have his feet firmly planted on the ground like so without even the curtsey to turn his head to regard me, the loser.

"Ahhh…"

Nothing comes from my mouth. I must be speechless. It's not that I do not have any words to say, it's just that I am unable to say them; after all, what could they do now of all times? Then the only option left for me to merely accept whatever is coming to take me from this world.

And finally, with some effort it seems, the pupil who has surpassed his master looks at me with those dank, blank eyes.

"Goodbye, Master."

I feel nothing.

Even if the force of his final punch was strong enough to tear my whole entire body apart there is no pain. There cannot be any pain as I am sure my body is too broken and beaten down to even know what pain means anymore. I shouldn't even be aware that my feet are no longer touching the ground. I must have been sent flying back. Damn, it really irks me that he did what I attempted to do so easily.

I move my hand hoping to grab something that will stop my fall, but there's nothing is there? My attack earlier on destroyed anything that could have been used to soften my fall. So all there is left to do is not to give up, but rather give in and let the embrace of the sky take me wherever it may.

* * *

><p>I didn't die.<p>

Those are the three words which determined my fate. No, it was not miraculous; it was not even what could be considered special. That is all there is to something which cannot be called an uncommon occurrence. As a professional assassin I have had my fair share of victims that would not die. It wasn't that they could not die; it was just that for one tiny instant, for one tiny moment, they wouldn't die. It was that they clung onto life with an admirable tenacity. I wouldn't call it luck either since my luck is terrible. I needed to survive, so I survived. That's all there is. If I did not need to survive I would have died. Of course I want to live, but a man must also accept that one day, a day which could be today, he will no longer have his place in this world, that and the fact that this couple was kind enough to take me in and care for me.

"So, you will be setting off today?"

A simple happiness, but a happiness nevertheless. It is an insult to call this type of happiness mundane.

"Thank you very much for your care; it has been an honor to stay with you. I am beyond grateful for you kindness."

"But your path will be beyond dangerous? Couldn't you just… go back home? While we might not completely understand your need for vengeance, we can't let you die so uselessly like that on a nameless road somewhere." It's a plea, not for something, but from the bottom of her heart to move an adjacent heart which cannot be moved in any other way; in that respect the words of the woman who saved me are in vain.

"It cannot be helped, my dearest. He has set out to do what he needs to do, and we cannot stop him. It is that process which teaches people to grow." My savior is grave, probably because it took me so long to recover that I do feel somewhat akin to these people.

"But not tonight, no, tonight cannot be filled with sadness and sorrows because tonight is the night of the festival." She seems excited at the upcoming revelry that I was unaware of.

It must have been quite stupid of me to not see that the warlord would be throwing a festival; after all, his son had just returned from a conflict alive, something that is considered rare in an age of instability like this. That was why the stores this week have been cleaning up and putting up paper lanterns as decorations.

What a peaceful happiness.

But that's not the reason why this piece of news resonates with me so much. I was almost killed by my pupil and for these few weeks I have been in hiding. He has not and only because I know that he has not can I know that he is in this town. In the past couple of weeks this town has become washed with blood. So even if this festival is to chiefly celebrate the return of a beloved son, its secondary purpose is to calm the populace. After all, a Roman once said that all that is for a necessary for a happy public is bread and circuses. I am usually wary of foreigners but in this case he was right.

I know that he cannot handle his impulses. I know that people have died in this town so regularly that they are starting to call the murder a "homicidal maniac." It is then only rational for me to believe that he is the one who is causing all this trouble even if I do not know why he has stayed in this town. Surely, it would be better for him to leave this town and deal his enjoyment in another town or country. Yet he hasn't and I will not hazard a guess to why he is following such a path, so I guess that I will find out the truth during this festival.

"Yes, of course I will attend, it would be my pleasure to." It's a strained voice that feigns excitement which is received with natural pleasure.

"Oh, then I definitely recommend attending the…"

The buzz of a content type of chatter which also is an insult to be considered idle starts to fill the room as the tea kettle starts to slowly come to a boil sending out tiny puffs of steam which regularly send a hanging pot plant into disarray. It's the type of atmosphere which has some sort of sanctity attached to its peacefulness. This scene is something which cannot be understood by those who live it every day. It can only be truly appreciated by those who have lived every day of their lives waddling through a world where red the only thing which is fought for.

I am sure this is what is known as the "calm before the storm;" however, why should knowing the full pain of what is to come crush our spirits and frighten us? Why can't the calm before the storm be accepted and enjoyed?

Because it can't last.

And that makes it transcend beauty.

* * *

><p>As the city starts to fade into the setting sun, one by one they start to populate what used to be known as a lonely road. One by the one the paper lanterns appear as if they bottled those fireflies which wiz around, glowing softly and without end.<p>

The rhythmic drum begins to drown out any sort of sense and the true evening begins.

Their revelries could wake up the sleeping earth.

Their joy could uplift men who are condemned to die.

The echoes of their voices are lifted towards the heavens where I am sure the gods can hear such romping.

It is just one of those nights. Those rare nights in the year where everyone and anyone drops what they are doing and joins in. They may not know the reason why they are participating, but that is not necessary. There is an automatic sense of comradely with those who are already involved. No one is a stranger because no one can be a stranger in this setting as everyone has become a stranger. Dressed in their finest, childhood friends look at each other with new eyes, and old drinking mates cannot understand why they have stayed friends with that horrible person over the years. There is a sort of magic in the air, not one of those ritualistic magics that I have seen performed once or twice by those who guard their secrets more rigidly than they guard their lives, but one very similar to a riverside filled with softly glowing fireflies and rustling cicadas. While the latter image evokes a sense of serenity and a certain absolute contentment about ones position and place in this grand earth, the former gives off a feeling which can only be described as a sense of community, one which was present in my own life before he warped and tore it apart with those fists of his that almost tore through my life. Sometimes one can only truly understand what he has lost when he watches others people revel in that one thing; this is definitely one those occasions.

With that being said, I have to swear that I cannot let him take this away. This is not a berserker-like vengeance, what I would consider judgment, or me trying to "protect," what I believe cannot be lost. This is about protecting the idea that people can live in peace. That even if violent death cannot be completely halted, it can be softened, postponed, so it does not curse humans to the point of trauma. It must be strange that a professional murderer is saying such things and perhaps it is ironic and hypocritical at the same time, but even if my body, mind, and soul are have been completely sublimated to the role of a professional murder for the sake of mastering the Qiang, it is my way of life and a rigid, unrelenting way of life will defeat brute strength any day.

So you who are brushing the fringes of the festival, never touching, only observing your next prey, you can never win, not anymore if you only rely on your body for strength.

Even if you are using the shade of the moon to cloak yourself as a method to blend with the bright darkness, ready to strike the heart of this festival hoping to reap all that have arrived here to show their defiance to your alley-way killings, there is no way that I would miss those lost, bestial eyes of yours.

So instead of coming here where the light pierces all the falsehoods and false persons that we have built up, I will go to where you are at, the fringes of the town, an area of grey where what is right cannot be distinguished from what is wrong, to show you what I know is wrong cannot be what is right and there you will feel the despair of knowing not that you are powerless, but so powerful that you became powerless to that power. Yes, I'll show what it truly means to wield your fists as a weapon.

A dark night.

There is no one here.

It is very dark as the forest is deep, so deep that the warm, comforting light which is already behind me cannot reach.

So because I can't see, hear, taste, or smell anything, I can only feel how incredibly cold it is. It is so cold that I am sure it could hurt my eyes. But it's not my actual environment which seems to freeze me; it's exactly like the festival, the atmosphere here is like a blade made from ice ready to slit my throat at any moment. But in a difference sense, that's good because it tells me all I need to know about this canopy which extends so far up that I can no longer see the clouded heavens.

The slight rustling of what should not have rustled if there was truly no one else in this tiny cage of trees fills me not with fear nor anticipation but acknowledgement at what must occur tonight.

And there, mixed in, almost blended with, is the briefest shadow of the man who shouldn't be here, who wouldn't be here, and who I expected with absolute certainty would be here, all rolled up in one.

There is no meeting of the eyes.

There is no need for recognition.

What was and what may be do not enter our minds for a second for they are already completely filled with the ending known as the "destination."

I did not obfuscate my presence. It's not that I couldn't nor that I shouldn't, but rather I wouldn't do something like that to myself or him. I won't throw my pride to the dogs just for something like this because before I am a human, before I am a master, I am a professional killer, one that does not need tricks to slay an opponent.

And soon we cross the veil of trees to an open field that is washed with the absence of colour that exists because of the contradictory opacity of the moon.

"So you are alive."

"And you haven't left this town."

It's a simple exchange where we will not listen to each other but rather lay our motivations on the imaginary table so we will have no regrets when we destroy each other.

"You should have run away and forgotten me. You know all that awaits you is darkness. You may be my master and the greatest practitioner of Bajiquan; however, you are only a human. A human cannot defeat me now; I have become an existence which throws away the concept of 'human.'"

"Don't be so fulsome. You are merely fighting for fighting. It may be horribly cliché, but you haven't found the true path yet. The road which you walk is one which is undoubtedly unstable. You should have run, boy, because if I was the one who didn't kill you then someone else would have. That is how the world treats those who have thrown away their humanity."

"However, even if you are human I am happy. I am happy beyond measure because Master you see, you see don't you? I was so happy, oh-so-fulfilled when I slaughtered my brothers. And you, when you fell from that mountaintop, oh, I am sure that is what it feels like to hold a woman. But that was it. Don't you see, master? The very next kill left such a bitter taste in my mouth and the next one was even more repulsive. I didn't understand, why? What was the difference in killing those close to me and those who were complete strangers? So then I started to kill women; after all, I had only killed men, but it did me no good and then I started with children, but that only disgusted me even more. I could not leave the town which had cursed my calling until I found what exactly had happened. It was bad, it was so bad that I could no longer shift my body." He's laughing, he's laughing so disgustingly. "That's right. Can you believe it? So I killed and killed but still, nothing. Don't you see? I can't be happy anymore because the only time I was ever happy was when I was ripping my brother's bodies apart and when I threw you off that cliff. And now I have nothing. Don't you see, master? But then I saw you. I saw you who should have been dead running towards me and… I felt it. I could feel my muscles contracting in a way that they should not. I could feel the part of me that is 'human,' start to loosen, about to be ejected."

His voice is saturated with pure joy, an uninhibited about of joy which he feels no shame in feeling.

"You're wrong. Like me, you lost your humanity the moment you took a life. There is nothing 'human,' left within you to be ejected." With those words I take my stance.

"And you? Why are you here to take revenge on that which can no longer be returned?" He reciprocates my stance.

"I have nothing to say to something like you. Just drown in your depravity and die."

A face splitting grin the last thing I see on his face as, "Don't mind if I do!"

He races towards me, as if allowing me to take the first strike.

But I don't, instead of striking him in a place that I know will not hurt him I hold my stance and instead focus all my chi.

"It doesn't matter if you're invisible or not if you remain in the same area." It's a loud noise, but that's all it is, a noise.

One blow.

His palm slams against. It doesn't matter if I may be transparent because I am not a ghost. His fist clearly connects with a part of my body and instantly breaks part of me.

It's clumsy, if it was perfect it would have only damaged the inside of me, so some of the attack is spread out through my skin and I am not mercilessly pierced by the impact.

Two blows.

I am completely overwhelmed in this battle if it can be called a battle. I will not move myself because it is not time yet. Let him continually beat this body of mine. Of course it hurts but I will endure because in the end I am his Master as I am the one who taught him this sublime art of death dealing.

Three blows.

My vision whites out.

Endure.

Four blows.

Everything becomes white. I cannot no longer even see him who is pelting me with a flurry of blows. It's a miracle that my vision did not white out during the first blow considering that his body is now a machine which only can deal death.

Five blows.

The barrage continues and I continue to keep my stance because he's blind. He can't even see the true nature of his happiness. He's a deviant, he's not normal but he should see what has made him so happy.

"Don't you see?"

He keeps repeating that as if some sort of a way to garner some sort empathy.

Six blows.

No, it's a plea to the world. At least that's what I wish to believe.

So then I will end his life as he cannot exist in such a place. He is an "unfit existence," one who only finds pleasure in attacking and then killing those he considers important so in every sense he is an "unfit existence." Normal people long to keep those who they love close to them, but he can only find happiness in severing those bonds.

But don't you see?

There are only so many bonds to be severed. If all those bonds are severed then he has nothing and he has degenerated to the point where he can no longer interact normally with other humans, so he is just a mad dog, run out of borrowed time. He is like one of the addicts in the opium dens who no longer have the means to fund their hobby. I am the last one; I am the last anchor he has to humanity, his master. Of course some of the people he attacked are still alive, but he doesn't know that, so I will do him a kindness and put him down.

Seven blows.

All he relies on is brute strength. Skills and Techniques were only made to compensate for brute strength. What is stronger than brute strength is the conviction of the path one leads his life following.

So I'll let him feel it.

My final lesson to him and my resolution as a hypocrite known as a professional killer, not a berserker.

Eigh-

"You know, you've struck me seven times, yet I am not dead, so I don't quite understand since a second strike is needless, so long there is one it will suffice."

The eighth blow definitely was made to kill.

He dashed forth to pierce my heart.

His speed was so fast, as his master I couldn't ask for any more.

It was a simple, efficient, motion to kill me.

It was indescribably beautiful.

But it was stopped the moment I moved my right palm to meet it.

That's incorrect.

His whole body stopped the moment I moved my right palm to meet his fist.

It's a sensation that I haven't felt before and the last sensation that I know that I will feel. It wasn't the force behind the palm, no, it was something else. The moment he touched me, something else overwhelmed my whole body. Having obtained this superb body I had believed myself akin to invincible, but even my body could do nothing against something like that which can only be describe as a "mystery."

My limp body hits the ground as my fiery haired executioner turns to leave my body to rot like I have left now what seems to be countless bodies.

Hah, it was so interesting in the beginning so how did it turn out like this?

I don't understand why they were so different, those kills from these kills. I practiced on so many, imitating those past kills which had brought me so much pleasure, but I could not feel anything. It irks me, even as I am laying here with nothing but ice as limbs.

And so, with my last strength, I look up to the dank heavens as if mocking not my destination, but myself for finding my what truly brought me the greatest pleasure and fulfillment that I had felt before only to lose it without knowing why. As of now, this heart can only contain bitter annoyance, but it is of no matter since those who could have alleviated such pain are no longer in this world as they have died by my hand.

For some reason that thought makes me smile.


	12. into Saver: savior

**into Saver: savior**

"_The Holy Grail is the Cage of SERAPH  
>and also, it is the Great Observer of the Imaginary Sea.<br>Heaven or Hell, now into the Sea of Electrons-"  
>-FateExtra_

The sky burns.

Houses collapse into ruin.

People fall to the ground.

Roads come to an end.

The conflict started here. With this, the world that was will be restored. It is here that "I" alone had survived.

Don't remember/_Never forget_.

Oblivion is salvation and sin.

Never forget.

"I" was born from perdition.

This must be a nightmare. This had to be somewhere; it could be anywhere, these events that occurred in the true memories of childhood.

_Childhood 'accident' - check._

A torrent of blood flows, and a voice resonating with bitter resentment can be heard.

Lives fade away without a thought. Friends, family, strangers: all gone. Soldiers with guns, families trying to hold together,

-a grotesque struggle to the last, until a gentle peace descends as death comes to claim them.

I could not accept all I have seen. The question of "why?" never left me.

Even with the divide between conflict and catastrophe, why did such a tragedy occur?

No, more importantly-

Why has this world been turned into a hell on Earth?

A gentle rain begins to fall. All things that once lived fade away, leaving only one behind. Amidst the helplessness and despair, their soul's last feelings are of rage and regret. The rain wets their cheeks as their eyes close one last time, dying forgotten and alone.

Seeing this, I struggle to rise from the depths of death. I will not accept what I have been shown. If I can live again, I will definitely-

But there are no second chances.

And before long, the rain has cleansed the scorched earth.

Never forget.

"I" was born from perdition.

What that means-

Somehow, please don't forget it.

* * *

><p>My faded consciousness starts to clear up and the familiar site of desks and chairs fills my vision.<p>

That's right…

After winning the fight, I returned to the now-lifeless school. Almost all the people are gone. I am the only Master. I am the last living "human," in this tournament.

No, "human," isn't exactly the right word, either.

From my past experience I am sure all the NPCs are now also gone. There is no more use for them.

…My eternal war ends here.

Only the Master and Servant who won this nameless war remain.

In any case, the path to the Automaton will open for the winner; even I don't know where it could be. During my trek through this war, I have never actually reached this stage as a competitor or as a NPC.

While reminiscing about those times:

"The War ends here. The path to the Moon Cell is open to you. Pass through the door to the battlefield once more."

… I have a goal which needs to be accomplished. I have crushed the dreams of countless other magi to arrive at this point.

Yet, deep inside of myself I am still unsure. Maybe I will find what I am looking for once I approach the trophy of this meaningless conflict.

With an exhausted strength, I grip onto one of the desks and slowly pull myself up. My steps are slow and grave but before long I reach for the door which I have slid open so many times that the action has become automatic. Without any sort of resistance it moves, revealing the hallway of a school that never was.

* * *

><p>"… It's almost a miracle that we have survived so long."<p>

An impossible beauty sits in the middle of a room decorated to look like a replica of the Imperial Palace of the same far eastern country in which I di-

Ah, have the rigors of yesterday caught up with me?

* * *

><p>The flames dance.<p>

/_In that hand is steel._

The earth cracks.

/_In that hand is poison._

The sea dries.

/_In that hand is the heat of 209,200 joules._

I see a bloodstained dream.

/_Many people are injured._

I see a dream that consumes.

/_Many wise men surrender._

I see a dream without a dream.

/_Many of us tire of the future._

Lament.

But for what reason?

* * *

><p>"Master? Master? Are you okay Master? I know it must have been exhausting fighting all those battles with your condition, but you're almost there, Master. The world that you seek is finally at your fingertips." My Servant expresses her concern over my apparent spacing out.<p>

She's especially gloomy today.

Usually I would consider her one of the more frivolous Heroic Spirits who haunt this illusion of normality. I wonder if it's because today will be the last day that I will see her, or whether it is for another reason. I decide to ask her this.

"Huh? Why am I being so gloomy? Bad, Tamamo, bad."

As she berates herself I can't help but smile. She really is beautiful, but that's to be expected.

Heroic Spirit, Legendary Soul.

An existence which is regarded as a miracle and a mystery by those who are alive. They are those humans who have achieved impossible feats for their time and for that, the gigantic eye in the sky has recorded them as the fittest of humanity. This saucy girl with fox ears who is hitting herself in the head is one of those Heroic Spirits, something that is human but not human all the same. But most of all she is my partner.

She saved me when I was weak, and no matter how many times I was defeated, she stood by my side with only a mirror to defend herself and me.

I can easily recall all those times.

Running away from a swarm of locusts.

Fighting giants which towered over us and simply could not be killed.

Being impossibly pierced in the heart by a spear which ignored the laws of cause and effect.

And her, always comforting me when the rigors of war were simply too much for me.

That is my Caster.

My dearest, Tamamo-no-mae.

And even if that thought comforts me, I am overwhelmed with another wave of nausea.

"Master? I think we should go see the Nurse before attempting the trek to the Automaton."

* * *

><p>Now that I am about to leave this scene behind I have to say that I am somewhat pensive. There have been countless times when I have lain on that bed on the brink of life and death cared for by this fellow NPC.<p>

"Congratulations." Even if she should enthusiastic, it is all in her programming, a mere string of ones and zeros. "This is my parting gift to you as wished for by the Moon Cell."

She moves towards her table, that long unnaturally purple hair slowly sways as she moves back towards me and places a three tier box in my hands.

"Huh? Please don't make that face. I haven't put anything strange in it."

But I'm not making a face. My face has been exactly the same since the moment I have stepped into this room. These automated programs are merely move according to the directions of that supercomputer, but to recreate a whole personality in a space like this is unbelievable, yet the Automaton achieves this like nothing. I am a spirit hacker, I can etherize my soul but I can't recreate it perfectly as the Automaton has done. This program who is waiting for a reply can no longer be called a program, she is a living, breathing, girl.

She is Matou Sakura.

All NPC's have a model; someone who was alive, living, or may one day be alive, even I had a model, although sometimes I forget that my origin was as a NPC. Either way this Matou Sakura who is in front of me is the digital image of a Matou Sakura who lived and had exactly the same gestures as this Matou Sakura in front of me. I don't know exactly how that makes me feel, to know that everyone in this school has a base somewhere, even that boorish student president, that completely immature teacher, and that cold priest who still unsettles me.

"All right, then. I wish you the best of luck!"

"Wai-"

But I am quickly ushered out and the door is shut right in my face, but behind that door which is now immovable I hear one last girlish sigh and, "Am I done now?"

Perhaps there is some part of the personality which can never leave.

But as I walk down the hall with this ridiculous lunch in my hands I remember I didn't even get to ask about my nausea. But it's fine; after all, I know what it comes from. I abhor war. It must come from the traumas of my childhood living through a proxy war that served as a contest between the two world powers at the time. Whenever I saw the sky rain fire, every time there is conflict, every time blood is split, I cannot help but to become physically sick. It must be some sort of higher irony that now I am in an eternal battlefield and has fought and killed a countless number of times.

First, it was to survive, but later it was to make those who I have stepped on worth something, anything. And now, I have reached my goal. In a few moments, the world become one which no longer needs to fight and I will have achieved my true goal, but before that.

"Kyaaaaaaaaaaa, I can't believe my Master summoned me like that. This must be the first time this has happened."

I do something that I shouldn't have.

"Tamamo, do you mind if we visit the chapel first? There is someone I wish to talk to."

"Ahhh, my Master and I are finally on first name terms, of course, my dear." I think at one point, I have stopped caring about how she talks. "But do you really have to talk to that man? He's so… ominous, and we have horrible compatibility unlike you and I do."

She pouts, trying to be cute.

"Well that's why I asked you first."

"Hah? Oh… then, of course."

Caster is utterly shameless; however, when confronted what seems to be another person's true affections towards her... she's like putty.

* * *

><p>Stepping into this place is like stepping into a breath of fresh air, the SERAPH has less control over this area which is contradictory since this area is one of the most important areas in the whole entire site. The SERAPH will correct any contradictions are occur; however, this is the area where Masters can perform the Alteration of the Soul, changing the flow of prana between Master and Servant, changing the base parameters of a Servant. Of course class skills and personal skills cannot be changed; however, it is the only means for a weak magus to restore his Servant's abilities.<p>

I have never used the Alteration of the Soul, neither have I ever actually needed to use it. As it turned out, one does not need knowledge of this "magecraft," to actually code cast. Luckily for me, the commissionary had Mystic Codes or Formal Wear that I could use. While none of these were exactly as strong as the Mystic Codes that many of the high-class magi who are generations old carried, but they were enough to give me a chance in battle. While I also had such a low aptitude for battle, I was lucky enough to have a dormant set of magic circuits, which I had no idea that I had before being awakened in this hell. Caster had not needed to worry about any stat penalties based on the incompetency of her Master. But let me state this one and only once. Caster is a weak Servant. She told me herself that her current form is nothing compared to what she was before. Her magic stat may be one of the highest ranks, but she is undoubtedly than those who have received divine protection from gods or have swords which can rip apart worlds. So if the Servant is lesser, then the Master must pick up the slack. I must be the perfect Master, knowing exactly who my enemy is and what their weakness is and how to exploit such a weakness. That is how a coward fights, that's the only way a NPC like me can fight the titans of the magi's world.

And after countless losses here I am.

"I should also congratulate you." A rumbling voice fills the chapel. I think it was spoken softly; it's just the timbre which made it grow.

Every time I would come into this room, no, make that anytime anyone comes into this room they inevitability mistake that man for a black monolith. The man's deep black cloak rejects any sort of the light which tries to stain it. His face is one so that you cannot gaze into his eyes but I'm sure his eyes are darker than black. He is the personification of "stillness," and a former Buddhist monk. Ironic, that a Buddhist monk and not that priest would be the keeper of this church.

"Tcch, Master, do you have to see him?" Tamamo's peeved whisper interrupts my thoughts.

It's understandable that Tamamo cannot stand the man. It was a monk who betrayed Tamamo-no-mae to the one she loved. She was ousted and then executed on the plains of Nasu, alone, cursing the world and humans until she became the Red Spider Lily Killing Stone which was also shattered by another virtuous monk named Gennou. Needless to say, Tamamo's life has been disrupted many times by monks, but for some reason I find him calming.

"Thank you Souren, it has been a pleasure to come and talk with you."

That isn't a lie; he has helped us through this War many times. This man with his incredible knowledge of bounded fields is the only reason why we were able to crush the monster that sleeps in her Shapeless Isle and it's Master, a magus who only wanted to prove his worth to this dying lineage.

"Did you know, newly crowned Master of the Moon Cell, that I once sought this conclusion?"

This conclusion? What is he talking about?

"I sought to find a way to the Root using people's deaths in an attempt to end the world and record their lives. Now, even if I am only a NPC in this SERAPH, I know that my former actions are useless as there is already something that records everything and anything about humanity."

It must be because we are in this chapel that he has access to his memories, otherwise I would have to hazard that he has regained his memories like me and is a potential threat as a Master, but the only thing that registers is,

"You tried to end the world?"

"Maybe not in this timeline, but in 1998 in my own world, I definitely, without a doubt tried to end this world. Ha, I was stopped of course, not by the demon I was trying to possess, but a simple worthless boy who I thought was my puppet." His voice gets quieter and quieter as he approaches the end of that sentence. "But like you listened to your Servant's story perhaps you should listen to mine as well. Do not worry I am sure you are full of anticipation to finally lay your eyes on the Holy Grail of the Seven Heavens so I will keep this very short."

Hmm, he called it a Holy Grail, an artifact that grants any wish made famous by the Arthurian-cycle. Arthur, now that's a name that is familiar, barely a day old. So the Moon Cell can also be considered a Holy Grail in a sense.

"It must be hard to believe but I am three hundred years old, yet even with such a gap in our years, our origins lie in the same place. Originally I was a wandering monk who would travel the battlefields trying to bring peace to those who had already fallen. And then one day, will closing the eyes a child soldier; I realized that I could not save those who are already dead. After all, even a miracle can only affect those who are alive. So, in despair I turned away from my religious path and instead looked for a way to the Root using that which is not there but is there, the soul. In the end I awakened my origin to keep on searching for a way into the Root. Why did I want to go to the Great Spiral of Origin? Because it's like the Moon Cell, it records everything and anything, even this Automaton; it processes everything and has every "if," already inside. I thought that if only I could reach this spiral then maybe, just maybe, I could examine all those who died meaninglessly. Analyze what their happiness was, and perhaps I could be able to give some meaning to their lives. Yes, that was my goal."

I look at the NPC who I considered, maybe not my friend but, a person who I could definitely trust in some dangerous situation.

"Now that I have had time to contemplate, I have realized just how selfish my actions are. They are the actions of a man who wanted to destroy everything because he did not understand one thing. I thought I sought true wisdom, but I was truly ignorant."

With a clink that only I can hear Caster's words enter my ear, "And you asked why I seemed so gloomy. This person could be the King of Gloomy. I told you we weren't compatible in anyway."

Caster's right. Caster's an existence who lives to serve others. It doesn't matter who or what they are, she just wants to make people happy. This Araya Souren is the other way around, he was a man troubled by humanity so much that he began to hate the world and only wished for a conclusion, any conclusion to the world he believed was only a paradox spiral.

"I wanted you to hear my story Twice, not to only show you a path that you shouldn't take, but also to remind you of that goal you once told me of. So go now, gaze into the heart of Luna yourself and see what it truly is that you want to change."

I turn to leave.

We are similar and yes our origins are the definitely the same. He only found despair in the destructive nature of war and sought to find meaning for those who meaninglessly died. I, or rather Twice remembers the carnage on that day. Everything around him was collapsing, everything feel with any sense of morality and like Souren said, without any acknowledgement of the value of life. Yes, on that battlefield of despair the young Twice realized that life itself was truly a miracle. That's why Twice became a doctor. That's why Twice became a Master. That's why Twice has to stop war.

And the Moon Cell waits to bless that prayer.

* * *

><p>The man of god covered in a dark frock stands rigid as if guarding the entrance to the now defunct Arena. He is the priest, ironically nothing like St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who tells us Masters, when and who it is that we will rend.<p>

He appears to be waiting for me.

"This may be fairly late to ask you this, but do you know what you are receiving?"

I already know the basics; there a book in the library that can be read when one is a certain level as a Master.

"The Moon Cell Automaton is a supercomputer within the moon that is meant observe. It is an archive that has recorded the history of the Earth, or rather humankind, since the beginning. And for some reason, magi fight to the death for ownership of this computer."

"Good basic knowledge, better than those who have reached this point before you."

Naturally, I have spent more time in this school than anymore bar the NPCs.

"The photonic crystal is what we call the 'Moon Cell.' Forcing other functions upon what is primarily an observation device is generally impossible, but you see, the all-seeing eye is lacking the rest of its head. The Moon cell is not a god. It must obey the laws of physics. Phenomena that are not observed do not exist. On the flip side to that, all things that are seen must be seen, even things that are not generally considered to exist. The Moon Cell is a very complete database. It records many 'ifs,' as well. With such operation power, the Moon Cell can both elucidate the past and provide foresight."

"So then, why did the monk call this Moon Cell, the 'Holy Grail'?"

"Oh, he did, did he?" The priest looks amused, a natural mood for him. "Only in the past century has it been called the 'Holy Grail.' What you are heading towards is "knowledge of the future." A place where you can spy upon the future. The moon has no will of its own. Intelligence is a distortion of pure observation, after all. But, if someone with a will could harness the Moon Cell they would see all their wishes granted. There doesn't need to be any motives just that the winner of the War is "strong."

Just strength. This priest reduces all of humanities struggles into that.

The only things that matter in this world are strength and the Holy Grail…

Ah, it starts again, for some reason it starts again, perhaps it is because I have come so close to my answer that my fate is mocking me.

* * *

><p>The flames dance.<p>

_/In that hand is steel._

The earth cracks.

_/In that hand is poison._

The sea dries.

_/In that hand is the heat of 209,200 joules._

When the monk said the words "Holy Grail," I could not help but feel some sort of déjà vu. Whenever I have heard talk about the prize we are all fighting for it has been referred to as "The Photonic Abyss," "Angelica Cage," or even just the "supercomputer that is on the moon."

Yes, the only time that I have heard someone call it a "Holy Grail," was yesterday.

* * *

><p>"Caster!" My racing voice tries to get Caster to retreat.<p>

It's no good, Caster's a mid-range fighter. Her mirror can be thrown as a boomerang or can be used to slightly offset a blow, but that's it.

Usually that should not matter since as the class name designates, Caster is a magus at heart, but she has yet to use a spell.

Why?

Her opponent is a Saber, one of the knight classes, a class who inherently has the skill "Magic Resistance." So any magecraft that Tamamo uses will be nullified. There is no point in mindlessly wasting prana so she continues to fight a physical battle.

So this farce cannot be called a battle. It is mere a beatdown to which she can only agree to. His helmeted knight is slowly crushing my Servant. Any lucky attacks that Tamamo slips through his defenses are simply shrugged away no matter how fatal they seem.

As expected of the class deemed "Most Outstanding."

But the most peculiar thing is his Master. He didn't speak to me during the prep period and was completely quiet during the elevator ride to this final, golden battlefield.

Without taking my eye off the "battle," I take out my terminal to check the matrix.

His name is Mitsuru Kugamine or Kugamine Mistsuru.

That's an eastern name that has its origin in the same country I died in, but he doesn't exactly look like an Asian. No, he has more of a European face, and no Asian naturally has that type of hair colour… What did they call him again? When this fake school was still filled with students?

Steel rings, it's a cold bell-like chime which cuts through the air itself.

Saber is unrelenting.

If I did not know the Servant's class I would swear that he was fighting as a Berserker. But even with all that brute strength there is a subtle finesse, one that I cannot help but admire.

It comes to no surprised that his swordplay is superb, he is; after all, the shatterer of the Round Table. He told us himself, on the fourth day of preparation when we met in final chimeric sea. The foreboding figure that never let his face be seen told us that even if he was the shatterer of the Round Table, he still had his pride as a knight and would still obey the rules of chivalry. His Master didn't even stop him from telling this to us. It's unfathomable, that the Master would let their Servant reveal information just like that.

Heroic Spirits all have weakness, particular ways that they died, geasa that they must uphold, etc. To learn one's opponents name means to learn all their weaknesses which can be exploited. One example would be if my opponent was Aife. I would only have to scream that her horses and chariot have fallen off a cliff to take her attention away. Another example would be King Arthur who was a "dragon incarnate," which would mean that he would be weak against anti-dragon magecraft or heroes who have slain dragons in the past.

Steel clangs, even against a sword like that, Caster's mirror will not break. It's a Noble Phantasm as well, a crystalized mystery created from the imagination of humans, so even if it clashes against another Noble Phantasm it will not break.

That is, unless…

And for the first time I hear the last magus I need to kill to obtain the Automaton and my past.

"gain_str (32)."

Code cast, one of the only ways for a Master to help his Servant. I have read in the library that it is a similar process to the lost art of magecraft. One channels his prana into a piece of formal wear and a spell is cast. This spell increases the strength stat of the Servant, and the number tells me how many modifiers it will gain.

Thirty-Two…

I quickly check my terminal again.

Saber's current strength stat is B rank, with that code cast his next attack will be B+ which means that Saber's attack has just doubled

"Cast-" I begin a shout.

Caster has to get away, there is no way that she can take the next attack and survive. In terms of numbers, if B rank is equivalent to the number forty, then B+ is eighty, an attack that easily surpasses the highest rank, A.

But either I am too late or Saber is too fast. There is no way that Caster can avoid this attack, even she puts all her power into guarding the attack there is no way she will survive such an attack after receiving such a beating.

What are the words that have kept me alive in this War.

If the Servant isn't enough…

"- then the Master has to make up for her!"

My hand goes into my sterile lab coat and sword is retrieved. There is no way to describe this sword other than a legendary sword said to have slain a demon. But I'm weak; I know I'm weak since I always have relied on Caster to save me; like the time when the arena was compete carpet bombed, or when my heart almost taken by that old man of the mountain. But I also know that if I run blindly into the fray I will be nothing else but a nuisance to my partner.

So I have to do the only thing that I can do, the trump card that I have been saving up just for this moment.

The sword is raised and the switch that turns me into a magus is flicked on.

From the tips of my toes to the crown of my head, prana courses through whole existence and I say the words that change myself and this world.

"shock (64)"

The air around the faceless armor buzzes and intensifies until finally, the air itself is electrified.

It's almost a miracle in itself that I have a mystic code that is so strong. Saber's magic resistance is C rank, rather low for a Saber. Magic Resistance is different from the magic resistance that Caster taught me. The class skill Magic Resistance doesn't merely mean that the Servant uses its own prana to wash away the spell, no, this is actual nullification of magecraft based on rank. So, a C rank in Magic Resistance means that Saber can cancel a spell which is below two verses, basically a spell which is C rank and below. Luckily this mystic code lets me use a B rank spell.

The electricity courses through Saber's body paralyzing it; however, Saber is a Servant, he won't be stunned for long.

"Caster, now!"

This is the moment we have been waiting for, it's not a Noble Phantasm but a trump card that cannot be played unless certain conditions are fulfilled, but when those conditions are fulfilled…

It's an enormous amount of magical energy being bended into a curse. The same curse that made up the remains of Tamamo-no-Mae after she was killed. Originally it was located where she had died, the plains of Nasu. It would be considered Tamamo's final vengeance, a curse which cannot be used unless she is on the brink of death…

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai!"

The Red Lily blooms again.

Taking with it the soul of one of the round table.

But he wouldn't be my final opponent if he couldn't deal with such a trump card. His unmoving face and his unflinching resolve are testament to these blood-soaked hands.

"cure()"

That's the correct way to counter-act Caster's trump card. One shouldn't take into consideration the damage that is done, but the effects of the attack. The killing stone's ferocity doesn't lie in its base power; in that respect it's equal to any other of her spells. No, the true horror is the poison that invades the body corrupting the senses and all thought.

After all, why heal a Servant who is no longer going to be damaged?

"heal_(64)"

The second of the mystic codes that I have saved for this day finally sees the golden sunset. It is an item of remarkable craftsmanship which is said to be made from the hide of an ancient dragon. It doesn't defend, but rather as the name of the spell suggests, heals my Servant.

"Ahhh, I can feel Master's love all around me."

Even in battle Caster's as embarrassing as ever.

But right now I'm more worried about the fact that my opponent is not worried at all. That spell was not even two verses, a C rank in Magic Resistance means that anything under two verses is nullified. Yes, Saber should have easily nullified that sort of magecraft.

Doesn't he feel any sort of worry at all?

Saber moves backs, not to regain his breath, but rather to analyze the situation he is in. He doesn't need to breathe, even now after attacking so much he's not even breaking a sweat. Most heroic spirits are fundamentally human. Even Tamamo, a goddess, is based off one of her human incarnation. However, he is different. I still remember when we attributed his raw strength to a Berserker.

But once Saber told us he was the shatterer of the Round table then it was all clear.

Saber is a homunculus.

A clone basically, with a higher growth rate and shorter life span than a regular human, but that means nothing to a Heroic Spirit. What's important is that a homunculus is basically a walking cluster of magic circuits.

This Saber's Magic Stat is higher than my own Caster, a member of the spell casting class. That is how strong this servant truly is, and he hasn't even shown his Noble Phantasm yet. But only to be fair we haven't shown him our Noble Phantasm yet, either.

But it's not the Servant.

It's him.

It's definitely him.

Call me paranoid, but he hasn't said a word to his Servant other than to cure him and strengthen him which says two things.

He is an incompetent Master who has only made it so far because of his superior Servant.

Or.

He completely trusts his Servant and has already given Saber his battle plans, and since he has not needed to amend them…

-we're playing right into his hand.

"Caster, now!"

This is the combo that we had agreed on in our room last night.

Caster rushes in with her mirror ready to strike, it's a tactic which wouldn't even be considered by other masters with Casters who are fighting against one of the knight class, but this Caster is different. The question right now will be whether Saber will guard, attack, break, or perhaps use a skill?

"gain_str(32)," Again, that steel voice rings through the golden sunset.

He hopes to end it with this one attack.

The armor draws closer to a Caster who can no longer stop and while Saber prepares for an overhead swing…

"Curse: Frigid Heaven!"

Caster nimbly attaches a tag onto his armor and nimbly backs away. Her agility is B rank after all.

The effects are immediate, Saber's armor starts to glaciate; the inside of his body is probably already frozen.

And again, the knight of sword has been stunned.

This not a status effect but which can be gotten rid of by a simple code cast, but rather the Servant is truly unable to move at this moment. This would be the perfect moment to launch another attack but Tamamo does not go for another a spell. If she did that he would no longer be stunned and then he would be free to cleave her head off. No, the idea is to use this time that we have gained for,

"Mantra: Merciful Sky."

It's a graceful pirouette, one that truly shows off Tamamo's divine origins, but other than that nothing happens.

He knows; I can see it in his eyes. He knows that we have just strengthened something. He must be calculating it right now. He knows that since I have a Caster it should be obvious that Caster just strengthened her magic stat. Yes, he's taking out his terminal just to check how much it can be expected to increase.

What?

No way.

He… He just put away his terminal and returned to a somewhat uninterested viewing of the battle.

"Caster! Let's end this while we have the momentum!"

"Oh course, my master." Her voice is joyous as she bounds towards the recovering iron block.

In her hand is another tag, the one which will rend end this battle for the Moon.

"Tcch," Saber makes a sound of annoyance as he retreats.

He has learnt that even if he does have Magic Resistance it either must be lacking or Caster has some sort of Noble Phantasm that bypasses his Magic Resistance.

He is wrong on all three counts.

Three?

Yes, Saber's Magic Resistance isn't lacking at all, neither does Caster's Noble Phantasm bypass his Magic Resistance.

But his greatest error in judgment was to retreat and guard thinking that Caster's tags were only suited for close combat.

Yes, I said it before didn't I?

That Caster was suited for mid-range combat, so…

"Curse: Chaos Heaven!"

As true as an arrow, the thrown tag clips onto the armor of the knight of the sword, and the world begins to crumble. That must be what it feels like for the knight; if he was a human there would be no way that he would have survived. His blood vessels should have all ruptured and his capillaries can never be used again. But he is an existence that surpassed human; he is a Heroic Spirit so not a hint of blood speeds out of that armor to sully the golden sunset.

But that wasn't the goal in the first place; Caster isn't a monster because she does high damage. No, Caster is all about controlling the momentum of the battle and because Chaos Heaven both breaks and stuns against a guard…

The sword comes to claim Tamamo's head.

Why wasn't he stunned?

The sword is desperately blocked by a mirror, but it's such a clumsy guard that the mirror goes flying away from Caster. Caster's unsteady on her feet as that attack was beyond what she could handle.

He's towering over her again with his sword upright.

"Curses, woman. They were all curses. Hah, so you aren't a proper heroic spirit, are you? You were a monster or some sort of corrupted being like that." His voice is scornful even if it is rather high.

Now I can truly see what his armor looks like. I was wrong. It isn't one gigantic block which covers his whole body. It's a heavy grey armor consisting of gauntlets, a chest plate, pauldrons, greaves and a helmet. They were just so iron grey that I believed it to be one gigantic suit. This isn't armor which protects though. It is armor which hides one's true being, a mask so to speak, a mask that isn't necessary for those of us who already know who he is.

I ready the Sword of Repentance yet again. I don't have enough prana to activate it but if that is the case then I'll just have to exceed the boundaries that have been set on this body.

Yes, to save the person who protected when I was weak I'll throw away this chance at victory.

Even if I die I will be able to try for the Moon Cell again. But Caster will be deleted if she is defeated, and all our precious memories will be gone.

"Master of this demon woman!" Saber turns his attention to me. "Hold your hand or this woman will be killed. While it is against the rules of chivalry to kill a woman, it is not to kill an abomination."

My grip on the Sword of Repentance tightens and with some effort I put it away.

But this servant must be familiar with curses even though his magic resistance is only C rank. That's right; Caster uses curses, not magecraft. If she used magecraft we would have been destroyed by that one hero's who life burns away when her sword reveals her death.

Caster has an EX rank in Witchcraft, something in which Caster uses all physical phenomena performed with her own body. While common Magecraft are programs that "recompose what exists around," Caster's witchcraft uses programs that "recompose the raw materials in one's body," for example; if she wanted to set someone alight she would simply ignite the sodium in a person's body.

Caster's first curse was to freeze the opponent, stunning them long enough to use Merciful Sky which multiplies the damage of the next spell by three. That was Chaos Heaven, which stuns the target when the target is guarding and the cycle would continue again and again and again. That was the plan for this final battle, a plan which was broken because he is son of that supposedly incestuous fairy.

So yes, I already know his identity. It isn't that hard to guess. His origins are sad, and his ending is even more tragic.

"Don't you, of all Heroic Spirits, dare bad mouth my Servant. If there is a monster here then it would have to be you. Was it pleasing to you? To plunge that coward's blade that you hold into the person who was father. Did you enjoy it bastard? Did you enjoy it Mordred?"

My words break through that armor of his and he roars in complete rage unbefitting a Saber.

"MASTER!" He roars to he who commands him for the first time.

"gain_str (32)"

"Then you shall it you slanderer. You will see the sword that has slain my father twice." He holds the sword in both hands ready to cast the true name, bestowing a miracle to the world.

But it's his words that shock me. Twice? Did he say my name or did he actually say that he has killed King Arthur twice? It isn't all that surprising that they would face each other again considering that this is a War of Heroic Spirits but…

"Clarent!"

The formerly dubbed "Sword of Peace," which is now lost in history as the "Coward's Blade," after the traitor who destroyed the peace of Camelot. As the Sword of Peace it was used only for knighting ceremonies. How ironic, the exact sword which knighted all those knights was used to slay them on that hill of misfortune. For that this sword probably has taken up a curse of destroying those who it has knighted or have used it to knight someone else. Then it would make sense the Servant who holds the strongest holy sword in existence could only stand and be destroyed by this sword.

Light that serves as Caster's guillotine is being released by the sword.

Even if it was made by man this sword is without doubt a holy sword. While it should have been dyed black by the actions and regrets of its wielder, it seems to have regained its status as a holy sword. I wonder what King Arthur said to the son who killed him twice. Was Mordred absolved? Is that why this sword has regained its luster?

…And Caster decides to face her last moments with her head held high.

After all, this sword originally made to be used as a symbol. Without it, Mordred would have been unable to lead a country. I'm sure that Mordred has the abilities to head an army but a country? No, this knight is a fighter, not a ruler. So then when he revealed his Noble Phantasm, his Charisma must have temporarily risen to B-, just enough to rule as a regent.

-Light runs.

The light isn't completely pure, but it's enough to instantly destroy most Heroic Spirits that try to contend with it.

Yet it's stopped.

One of the most famous holy swords in the world is stopped by a mere mischievous fox-girl.

"Mantra: Aphotic Cave"

The light is stopped and reabsorbed into prana.

Hah, that's my Tamamo, my partner through this hellish war.

We've lasted this whole war. We've killed and killed. We've stepped on so many dreams that I think that I'm going to be sick. But every dream that has been extinguished still lives on in us. They're all there, all the masters that we have defeated; Edelfelt, Velvet, Sophia-Ri, Fraga, those are the first names that come to mind, but I know that there are many more.

"Ahh," He's shocked.

For the first time both the Master and the Servant are shocked at what has just happened. While Mordred was making his speech, Caster had her head down chanting what would become our road towards victory.

"But, even Father couldn't stand up to that attack! How could it be that…" If I could see his eyes I am sure that should have flared up for a second "It doesn't matter, the Holy Grail is ours!"

* * *

><p>Is there an answer for this lamentation?<p>

And if there isn't one, I will need to create one through my own strength of will.

I have no need for memories.

I don't even really need a past.

All I need to do is keep fighting.

* * *

><p>I hear a distant voice asking me to wake up.<p>

"Master? Master? You've been out of it a lot today are you sure it's okay to go…"

I can't say that I'm not happy that Caster is worried about me.

"Caster, where has the priest gone?"

My head is still whirling and I notice that I am back in our room. Caster must have carried me all the way here. That would usually be suicide, but since we are the only inhabitants in this virtual school it no longer matters.

"He just left after he finished saying what he said. Master, are you sure you are okay?"

I nod my head weakly.

That scene.

That absolutely despairing scene.

Caster definitely struck the final blow to Mordred, but then what happened?

Urgh, why can't I remember even if it was only yesterday?

"Master?"

"Let's head out Tamamo. It's time we gazed upon the Holy Grail."

* * *

><p>The entrance to the battlegrounds is still the same dreary elevator. This elevator travels to the Arena. But the display indicates a much greater depth. Once I'm inside, the doors close heavily and the rectangular box begins to move.<p>

* * *

><p>It's completely pitch black here. We truly are at the bottom of the sea.<p>

I turn to my partner and gift her a smile and behind to walk towards the light.

"We've come so far. From when you saved me until now."

This is the last time I will see Caster so I have to tell her how precious I find her.

"Even if I was sick most of the time, I have to say that it's been a lot of fun. Although back then… I have to tell you Tamamo, I never thought that we would make it here. I was just simply too weak."

Damn, even if it's dark the air stings my eyes.

"You protected me no matter how pathetic, miserable, or weak I was. I know that you're a Heroic Spirit, but I know the pain of your past as well, and how much it cost you to protect me in the way that you did. So let me tell you Tamamo, you are definitely the strongest woman in the world."

She wistfully smiles at that.

"But, all in all, I'm beyond glad that I had you as a Servant. This may be our last time together so I just want to thank you for everything. No matter how grumpy or disagreeable I was, just remember that to me you are someone who cannot be replaced. So for taking care of, no, for raising Twice Pieceman, I thank you with all my heart and soul."

And with that, hand in hand, we enter the gateway that will deliver us to the Holy Grail, the end of our war.

* * *

><p>It's an incredibly vast room.<p>

Actually, a space so cavernous could hardly be called a room. It is also so strangely barren, save for the alien object that dominates the center of the space.

It resembles a giant floating eye.

Though it doesn't seem threatening, it is still somewhat disconcerting.

The artifact of an alien civilization, the reason for its creation is beyond human comprehension.

It is the core of the Moon Cell and the base of the SERAPH, the Holy Grail of the Seven Heavens, responsible for creating the seven seas. And in the space where the Holy Grail is enshrined, I can feel a sense of discord and dissonance.

It's disgusting.

It's utterly disgusting.

There is no red, but all I see is red. Red like the day that…bzzzt…

I fall down to my knees surrounded by a mountain of corpses.

Is this the fate of the winners of the Moon Cell's war?

"Master!"

But Caster's call is drowned out by a…

"_!"

A roar which can only come from a Berserker.

I don't have to turn my head to know who is sitting in front of his Holy Grail atop a jumble of stone pillars, which only adds to the tumultuous atmosphere.

Sitting on top of that pile of stone as if it is a throne is the king who should have been deleted, guarded by a mad warrior who no longer has his helmet.

It's a white hot sharp pain that sends me reeling.

* * *

><p>"Now, the truth hidden for long years reveals itself! The world has long been at a dead end. Human efforts to circumvent it meet an unsightly end.<p>

I want to hear you cry out in lamentation as broken history cracks and is faultily mended.

I want you to blame them in loud cries. I caress the broken surface of the Earth with knowing eyes.

I want you so smile victoriously. After several stumbles, we are finally free from human war."

Whose words are they?

Just exactly whose words are they?

* * *

><p>The red line is drawn and the battle has ended.<p>

He should be fading away.

The Master who only gave his servant three orders.

He should be fading away.

The coward who betrayed the Round Table.

So why are they screaming?

Why are they screaming in so much despair that Tamamo actually cringes behind me?

He roars and his servant roars with him.

It must hurt, it must hurt so much. There is without a doubt that the SERAPH is trying to interrupt whatever type of hacking he trying to achieve.

All of a sudden, for the first time since we met he meets my horrified gaze.

There is so much hate in those eyes, just so much…

"I will become a hero!"

And he tears off his right arm.

This scene, even for a war like this is too unbelievable. So unbelievable, that I can no longer retain my consciousness.

* * *

><p>"But what has that produced?<p>

Perpetuity! Eternity! Blisss! Stagnation!

Look upon the many corpses.

Listen to the anguish.

No one wishes for the future, only for the continuation of a mediocre happiness.

A road to a peaceful home, a sunlit window that frames no poverty or inequality.

Now-

I want you to answer once more."

Who shouted those words?

Who shouted those words on the verge of death?

* * *

><p>"You!"<p>

I throw the pain off and run towards the faux throne.

But I didn't even reach half way when the mad knight ripped me from the ground and threw me across the "room."

"Master!"

His strength stat has definitely increased, but that has come at the cost of his sanity. Mad Warrior, Berserker. There is no time to check my terminal, but experience through countless wars has given me an initiation about skills and parameters.

He doesn't look like a Berserker at all. He can only be described as beautiful with long blond hair and those piercing, muddied green eyes which show that he has not completely lost his sanity.

"_!"

Which is why I would put his Mad Enchantment rank at C. His magic and his luck stats have not increased thankfully. Mordred is a homunculus, a walking cluster of magic circuits from the beginning of the age of man. His magic circuits are probably more advanced than another other human alive today. If his magic stat were to increase, then we would definitely be in serious trouble.

The crazed Mordred, the infamous mastermind behind the battle of Camlann, rushes towards us without any indication from his Master.

Without thinking about her safety Caster goes in to meet him.

After the first exchange of blows I know that this is an unfair battle. During our fight on the golden lake Caster still had the advantage in agility. But now, due to Mad Enchament, Tamamo has lost whatever little edge she had.

But Mad Enchantment is a double edged sword. While is boosts one's base stats, skills can drop or be rendered useless, like his ability to ride mounted units which has been replaced by Mad Enchantment. His Magic Resistance has certainly decreased as well, now he can only nullify single action spells.

The Coward's Blade is raised except that this time light does not run. Instead it crushes the area around Mordred.

He must have lost use of his Noble Phantasm as well.

While I should be relieved, for some reason that causes me some worry, but not as much as the Master who seems like he has completely changed.

If I were to describe him, I couldn't because it would be like looking into a mirror, not because we look the same but because he excludes the same aura of "nothingness," that Caster told me I exclude. His clothes which were spotless the first time we fought are now ruffled, but that is a matter of course considering he has just defied the SERAPH and avoided deletion. But the biggest difference is not the black suit that he wears, but his arm…

It's not his arm.

I know he tore his arm out which is unthinkable; even if we are packets of data we still feel pain. To be able to tear your arm off like that…

-what sort of being is he?

The arm which is now attached to him is someone else's which means the command spells are also someone else's, probably the Master who had that arm used a Berserker.

But still it doesn't make sense, where did he get that arm? There is no one left in the War so then…

"It would be better for you to concentrate on your Servant other than thinking about my arm." The king of the Moon Cell's words separates the battle to arrive at my ears.

It's a casual voice, not the voice that I expected at all. There is only bluntness in his words, he hasn't been trade to hide or falsify truths.

"I obtained this arm before we fought you. This is war after all. Why not kill the Master before killing the Servant? Why not take that Master's command spells in case you lose? Everything needs to be counted for; after all, this is war."

Caster is being beaten down and I still am on the ground unable to get up.

But those words.

Those words hurts.

Those words hurt so much.

He excuses his actions by declaring that it is allowed since this is war.

It really makes me angry.

For the first time since I was born, I'm angrier than I am sick.

"Caster!" My voice is incredibly feeble, but that's the reason why I am at my strongest. "At this moment I declare that I release any of the limiters that I placed upon you!"

Even if she is being overburdened by the blows of the Mad Warrior she turns to grin at me.

"Will do, Master!"

She retreats and with an impossibly graceful motion she takes out ten tags from her "Japanese dress," and fans them out, ready to pounce back into battle.

Yes, that's my Servant.

The ever perky, the ever proud, Tamamo-no-mae.

So as her Master, even if I'm not as strong as she is, I have to at least match her effort..

With some grunting and heaving the world turns upright again. My left "arm" has been crushed and one of the lenses of my glasses has been broken, but if that's all that was lost after being thrown by this insane warrior, then I'm definitely in good condition.

I look upon the king of world. The man on the throne that should have been mine.

"Mitsuru I'm sure that you know there are many rules in this War, but there's one which will always stay the same. There is only one Master can obtain the Holy Grail of the seven heavens. And…"

Our gazes meet…

"-It's mine!"

* * *

><p>As just like the Servants fighting, the yells that were made in unison wrap around each other trying not to surpass the other, but to stamp the other into the ground, ripping off its wings made of hope.<p>

They clash, the ringing of clean steel and the ever-hungry roar of curses.

Even if her endurance is only E rank, Caster's stamina is incredible, but bit by bit she loses ground to the mad swinging of Mordred.

He can only be described as a brutal earth-mover, every time he swings the world shakes and terra is ripped away and sent hurtling towards a Caster who is only trying to defend herself.

"So then Twice, tell me, just before I defeat you what sort of world do you wish to create with the Holy Grail?" His question puzzles me, but does not surprise me; he doesn't believe that his Servant is in danger of losing so why not amuse himself?

"My only wish is for a world without war." I tell him the only wish that I have.

"Ah-ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

He laughs.

"Ahh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

He's not laughing at me but at my wish.

It's such a mirthful laugh that drowns out the clashing of our Servants.

"A world without war you say? So you are not different from the plutocracy, and that family.

A world without war? In exchange for what?

A mediocre happiness?

A world of stagnation which no longer moves, and only dies?

Such a wish is wasted on something like the Holy Grail."

Argh, again, it's a searing hot pain that developed out of the ominous feeling that came from the Moon Cell.

Those words, where have I heard those words.

"Twice, I do not know what your origin is, but you have made it this far. Even if your wish is ridiculous, I have to have some respect for you."

And unorthodoxly, amidst the incessant ringing of the Servants he beings a monologue.

"You have heard of the Harway family have you? They currently own about ten percent of the world, and they are rapidly increasing in their holdings. In fact, after I have obtained the Holy Grail then will probably try to shut down the Akalabeth research center but that is no matter. Mordred and I, we're the same. We're both bastards. He was not recognized by his "father," and I was not recognized by the woman who bore me, the current head of the Harway family. Yes, I have taken my father's family's name."

No wonder I recognize the name, Kugamine, they were a successful family under the Tohno group in the 90's. The Tohno group was a family owned group which had money in some notable newspapers.

"Regardless, I was born from that union and was not recognized. But that isn't the tragic part. I was ignored by the family and that was how I liked it. You see, the Harway family is like royalty, they are expected to keep the line pure. Yet here we were, children born from someone who wasn't part of the Western European Conglomerate. So when my sister threatened to go public with her ancestry, she was executed, and that's when I realized…

This world is unfair.

This world is simply so unfair.

It is advertised as equal, as just, but for people like Mordred and me. We're just trash." His tone is just so world weary and bitter.

"But at that time I accepted my fate, and fulsomely followed the orders of that cursed family. I became the guard for the scion of the family. As it turns out I have rather good quality magic circuits, so I was trained to become a magus capable of entering this war. I was meant to use my abilities to make sure that my half-brother would be the winner of this War. And guess what? Guess what happened in the very first round? I was paired up with him. What fate! He didn't try to learn anything about my Servant at all; rather, he expected me to hand him the victory. Can you believe it? He felt that he was entitled to the victory, like he was entitled to the Moon Cell, like he was entitled to the world! So I killed him. I mercilessly beat him down. Mordred was happy; he was finally able to apologize to his "father," and then kill him without any regrets to ascend to the throne that should have rightfully been his. As for me, well, I learned that there are no more heroes in this world. Spoiled brats like him exist in this world, but heroes do not walk among and with us. unlike this virtual sea.

A hero who could have saved my dying sister.

A hero who can destroy the corruption that litters our world.

A hero who can inspire hope in the hearts of these souls who have given up and can only lament.

So I decided to become a hero, not a hero of justice, just a hero and that is my wish upon our stagnating world. I wish that heroes could exist in our current era."

He laughed at my wish, but I cannot laugh at his.

It might be completely ridiculous, but…

Heroes to guide humanity.

Heroes to protect us.

Heroes to serve as an ideal that we can all strive towards.

I shake my head because I know that he's wrong.

This is a wish that should never come true, no matter how beautiful such a world seems.

"So you wish for heroes to exist? But you see heroes aren't born, they're made, so your wish cannot come true unless there is a clear evil. Even if you haven't thought about it yet, a hero requires as villain to defeat to be known as a hero."

The desire to save something,

-is, at the same time, none other than the wish for something to be in danger.

So, I must reject his words as the path that humanity must take.

I want to stop war, I don't want to let anyone die, lest of all-

"Caster!"

With nowhere else to dodge Caster finally receives a wound, a large wound.

"_!"

Mordred closes in for the kill, he might not be able to think properly, but he can smell his prey.

"Then let us see!" His voice is triumphant and self-righteous, because like the amoral priest he must believe that the ones who are "strong," are the only ones who are right.

Mordred swings.

Previously when he was a Saber he would swing his sword with one hand unless he used his Noble Phantasm, but now as a Berserker, either to maximize his power, or to have better control of his weapon, he has changed to a two-handed style.

This quirk allows Caster rolls out of the way; it's at times like this that I'm glad that she has a B rank in luck, what some would consider the most worthless parameter in this War.

And as she rises, her hands are in their most dangerous position as…

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai!"

The land turns to one of eternal bane.

"add-"

The Mitsuru's incantation is completely block out by the ferocity of Caster's spell.

It's loud, the blast is so loud that it almost knocks me off my feet, but I steady myself because I don't think that I could get back up if I fell down again.

There's a gigantic hole in the area where the magecraft met the Heroic Spirit. That is, after all, Caster's greatest curse. But that doesn't make sense at all. A curse should not affect the environment, only the victim which means…

-something must have blocked the curse.

"_!"

Before I see Mordred rushing out of the dust the explosion has created, I hear his roar.

"No… No way."

He's completely undamaged and his sword is outstretched, ready to pierce an utterly flabbergasted Caster.

She's dead.

Caster's dead.

In the next second.

No, in the next moment, Caster will be dead.

It runs. Something runs through my body and-

I definitely can't let her die.

Yes, I can't let her die.

So if I don't use it now and let her die...

-what's the point of having it?

It fuses with my body until,

"Return, Caster!"

Caster disappears as the sword does not claim the head that should have been severed from the body, and instantly reappears at my side as if she has just teleported there.

Argh, it's a hot pain. One that isn't un-similar to how these three, now two, Command Spells were engraved upon me.

"So, you escaped death. But you were merely lucky, you know you can't win and the moment you lose you use your third command spell… your qualifications as Master will end."

He's right, he's completely right, but we haven't played our trump card yet.

Mitsuru still doesn't know who Caster is. He only knows that she is a monster, and that she is a fox. But even that's wrong.

"Caster, can you use it?"

She smiles as if to say, of course, without any words.

And, with that she begins the chant,

"There are gods in Izumo.

Sure on aesthetic, breathe the soul."

Caster's Noble Phantasm is what I would consider special in the sense that a certain set of requirements must be met for it to be used other than just prana and saying the true name. It is an ultimate Noble Phantasm that can be only used once per battle.

"The sky shines on mountains, rivers, water, and sky.

Approve freely, prove its ablutions."

I know that it hurts, but I continue to block out the pain. Do all Masters go through this when they use a Command Spell? I wouldn't know. I haven't used a command spell before. Or is this something else?

But I'm so close so I have to keep holding on.

Just… keep…

"It is called Tamamo Sizuishi.

Mirror of Inari's, a Godly Artifact…

Just kidding!"

As she adds her own touch to the incantation, the world changes. Eight of her tags, filled to the brim with her prana, are spread around her. They're special tags with what seems to be a spiral drawn right in the middle. They glow as bright as the sun itself and countless Torii gates rise up from the earth, they're enormous. Each Torii is filled to the brim with mana. I suspect there is enough prana in each Torii to destroy a castle. And like water, it is poured into Caster's mirror which suckles the stream as if pap, drinking until there is no end.

This is the Eightfold Blessing of Amaterasu: Suiten Nikkou Amaterasu Yano Shizu Ishi.

Mordred rushes in with no fear of the Noble Phantasm. Actually, how could he fear the immense prana that Tamamo is now seething? He has almost lost all reason, and only moves to destroy an enemy who must be defeated.

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai!"

Tamamo replies again with her strongest spell.

"add_invalid()"

It is again block by a mysterious barrier. Invalid, that's what he must have used the first time he blocked Caster's Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai. Does it make any attack that is performed on Mordred, magical or physical, invalid?

"Another spell, Caster!"

"Curse: Fiery Heaven!"

Even if her spell holds within it the promise of a flowering flame, today, the fire will not rule the heavens because…

"add_invalid()"

So Mitsuru seeks a battle of attrition. That may be the biggest mistake that he's made.

"And another!"

"Curse: Frigid Heaven!"

Caster keeps on flinging curses as she sprints around the throne room of the Grail which has turned into a battlefield.

"add_invalid()"

Caster's Noble Phantasm is specifically made for a battle of attrition. It gives her an unlimited amount of prana for a specific number of actions.

"Curse: Chaos Heaven!"

The tag, filled to the brim with prana, roars-

"add_invalid()"

And like all the others, it is drowned out by that of the code cast.

I'm sure that he obtained that code cast as he was about to be deleted. He achieved the highest power, just as he was at his most desperate.

There's something beautiful in that.

"Caster, we can't stun him! Just keep using your strongest spell!"

"Alright Master! You're lucky that I have just the right amount of health to perform it. Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai!"

But for some reason my mind denies that I find that it is beautiful.

"add_invalid()"

Because he was suffering wasn't he? The only reason why he was able to move forward and meet me here, to do the impossible…

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai"

-was because he had been suffering so much.

Because I was an enemy that he had to destroy to reach his goal.

"add_invalid()"

He even blocks Caster's final attack.

"_!"

Time freezes.

I take an instant to assess his condition.

Caster's Noble Phantasm has ended.

Using that code cast of Mitsuru's, Mordred has blocked every curse that Caster has thrown at him; without support from her Noble Phantasm, Caster has no more prana.

But consider something. If Caster could use her Noble Phantasm again wouldn't that mean she could use six more spells?

But Mitsuru still has that code cast, so in the end nothing will change.

I…

It hurts.

The command spell hurts.

But not as much as it does watching Caster being completely ripped apart by Mordred because I did nothing, so I have to bear that pain.

Even if I can't protect Caster in the way she protects me.

I have to take some of her burden away.

Even if it costs me my mind.

Even if the pain costs me my sanity.

This Command Spell was engraved onto me as a weapon. If I had no use for that weapon I should have cut off my arm.

So it's necessary.

And even if it's impossible...

Even if everyone says it cannot be done…

"By the power vested in me by this second Command Spell, Caster, I command you to use your Noble Phantasm again!"

-I'll create a miracle.

It breaks, something inside me breaks. No, it's better to say that something which was separated has been re-connected, was it because I linked myself to Moon Cell when I used these Command Spells? I don't know as I have already lost myself.

But that's not my thought as I hit the ground.

I'm just glad that there is an uncountable number Torii's standing tall and proud ready to assist her in her fight.

* * *

><p>_A dream suddenly descends upon me._

It's a scene I have just witnessed this morning.

It might be a scene from a past I cannot recall. It's as if I had thrown this memory away, only to have it assail me. This is probably because I am so close to the Moon Cell or have just used a crest that is connected to the Moon Cell.

/_I hear a voice of lamentation._

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why do I yearn for something I despise?

Why do I lament over which I love?

In the midst of chaos, I watch as countless people die in misery.

Is there an answer for this insanity?

If there is an answer then it's in this sky which is deep blue, the colour of the ocean. It glitters and slowly moves away in an arc.

A swimming/_drowning _sort of flight.

Maybe this truly eternity.

It's like being a satellite in soundless orbit around a planet, gazing at a frozen civilization.

This future.

It should be loudly sung that no one wishes for it.

Life arose from the womb of the ocean. The virtual world preserves memory of life's mother.

We spread out over the earth, made the land more bountiful and birthed civilizations of our own.

For what purpose?

I want the answer to that question.

Yes.

* * *

><p>"Was there any value in our millennia of prosperity?"<p>

That…

Those were the final thoughts of the man known as Twice Pieceman which have only now been freed.

Even if I want to reject them, the Moon Cell cannot lie, it's just an eye in the sky which mindlessly observes.

"add_invalid(). Your eyes have changed; they are no longer as naïve as they were before. What did you see? What did the Moon Cell show you?"

The Moon Cell, what did it… show me?

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai!"

It showed me Twice, yes, it showed me what Twice Pieceman dreamed for.

"add_invalid()"

I can't deny his ideal. All my greatest works, all Twice's greatest works have been born from war. Just that fact that I am standing here right now is because of how I have grown because of war.

And Mitsuru, didn't he only obtain that annoying power because he was in despair?

The many revelations.

The uncounted number of rescues.

None would have happened without the hell that is war.

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai."

If the objective of modern man is merely survival, then there is no reason for them to exist.

During Twice's life, a great many lives and resources were consumed for the sake of prosperity. Why?

What was the need for such prosperity? Prosperity is just an illusion and exists only for its own sake.

"add_invalid()"

It's his final one. Using the outer processes that I can now use because of my connection to the Moon Cell, I know that the does not have enough prana for another shield. If he only began using that code cast when Caster first used her Noble Phantasm then he would have withstood her barrage.

But…

"Tokoyo Saskisaku Daisakkai."

Mordred is dead.

Caster's greatest spell containing all the prana which was supplied by those Toriis is more than enough to kill any Heroic Spirit.

In the end, even if I have seen Twice's end I couldn't agree with Mitsuru's vision. If the future isn't worth the suffering of the past, that would have made those men mere murderers.

For humans who lived in the distant past, the future that man is now planning cannot be accepted. Humanity has not spent countless lives for the society that is to come.

I steel my gaze and meet Mitsuru's.

"Now I am not naïve enough to believe that war must be completely stopped. " Caster gasps at my words, "But your ideology is still wrong. The future cannot be an imitation of the past. That sort of backwards thinking is even worse than stagnating the world."

But Mitsuru is disinterested in my words.

"Look at your Servant."

And there, with a spike blossoming from her back is Caster.

"You're still naïve. Why do you think Servants have classes? Just because my Servant changed classes does not mean he no longer has a Noble Phantasm. The Moon Cell limits a Servant's Noble Phantasms to one; it does not mean that Heroic Spirits can't have different Noble Phantasms if they qualify for different classes."

It's as if it were a sculpture.

Mordred just stands there motionless with his sword plunged into Caster's chest.

How… How can he be alive?

Caster's spell definitely killed him.

"Empty Victory: Death Cannot Still This Hand, is the name of the Noble Phantasm. It's a curse, just like the ones your fox-woman spreads on the battlefield. On the hellfire battlefield that was Camlann, King Arthur killed Mordred; however even if he was "dead" Mordred kept attacking, fatally wounding King Arthur, and the rest is legend."

"But you lose as well. You're Servant is dead; he's not even a puppet. He stopped moving the moment he achieved his vengeance."

He nods, "But he will not be deleted, he will merely stand there. The SERAPH will not delete him as he is technically 'still using his Noble Phantasm.'"

No way, there is no way that such a situation exists.

Which would mean…

-this was his plan all along.

That's why he was so disinterested. He knew, he knew that Mordred had this Noble Phantasm if he ever became a Berserker, but as this Noble Phantasm mutually assures destruction he could no use it until the final round.

"Twice, I'm sorry, but I can't lose anymore. I can't lose because I have become a hero. A hero is someone who never loses anything."

I can't accept it.

Twice can't accept it.

His world where everyone imitates the past, yes, what was all that suffering for if that is the future?

Twice's dream.

Twice's ideal.

The one truth in this life that he found three seconds before his heart stopped, and I found by fighting this never-ending war.

So even if I can't actualize my own ideal…

I'll just do what I've been doing all this time and stomp on his.

Caster's still alive, but just, this command spell on my fist is proof of our connection.

Sorry my precious partner, but for Twice's final wishes… I'm going to betray you.

"Caster!"

It must look so ridiculous, screaming at a motionless body.

But there is no hesitation, as holding her gaze,

"I command you to sacrifice yourself and destroy the Servant in front of you!"

Slowly, and painfully, Caster opens her eyes, they're bloodshot and weary.

"Master… why?" She's not shocked by the command, but by the betrayal. "Twice… you…I…."

"By the command of this third and final spell, I Twice Pieceman command my Servant Tamamo-no-mae, to sacrifice herself and take the Servant that is right in front of her to the bottom of this imaginary sea."

"Tw…i…ce."

She just stares at me, wondering just how and why I have changed in such a short period of time.

She roars.

Her roar, filled with prana, is a lamentation that humans should not be this way.

But that roar was not resistance. She willingly let me take her life with my final Command Spell.

And as she disappears, taking the mad warrior away with her… I think, at the end, I saw a glimpse of the lonely child-goddess who just loved humans too much.

"So you're that type of person, aren't you Twice? You're the type that would destroy your own dream to stop another's?" His words is filled with distaste; I think they're supposed to harm me.

But everything has stopped hurting.

I don't think anything can hurt anymore.

I sacrificed Caster, my partner, the one who has saved me.

There were memories.

There was the warmth of life.

Her warmth was always by my side.

I kill her along with those memories.

I search through my mind and throw them away to where I can't find them again.

They'll never return.

I'll never recall her now.

-Twice doesn't think that such a thing will be forgiven.

I chose Twice's path.

I sacrificed my partner to reach Twice's goal.

"You never heard what that amoral priest said, did you?"

He shakes his head almost amused that we are both fading away.

"He is only an NPC, you are only a villain, and I am the hero. In the end the hero always wins, as that is the duty of the hero."

"'Strength,' he said. That amoral priest reduced humanity's struggle into one word 'strength.'"

A group of soldiers made to fight against an army many times their size that was far more experienced and well supplied.

Forced to flee form guerrillas, a girl of five travels on foot through a jungle that few could hope to survive.

Innocent victims of violence who rebuilt their village and their lives and their lives without help from anyone else.

Those are merely Twice's examples.

A monk, disgusted by the violence that surrounded him, almost changed into a concept, and nearly destroyed the world.

An unfortunate courtesan, exiled from her home and chased down by the very people she loved, becomes one of the three greatest monsters in that country.

And I, weak, comical, pathetic, echo of man stepped on the dreams of those greater than myself, only to sacrifice a person that was truly precious to me, just for a chance to allow others to do the same.

"And Mitsuru, do you know? He was right. Humanity doesn't need heroes… It needs the 'strength,' that it has forgotten."

Because I'm weak.

Because I'm comical.

Because I'm pathetic.

I raise my unbroken arm into the heavens like I have done so many times before.

"- I announce!

Your self is under me; my fate is your sword.

On accordance with the resort of Laplace's Demon, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.

Here is my oath.

I am the one who becomes all the good of the sea of electrons.

I am the one who lays out all the evils of the sea of electrons.

You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence,

O, keeper of the balance -!"

And…

-nothing.

"Did you think that the SERAPH will let you summon another servant?"

"It's not will the SERAPH let me summon another Servant."

I lower my fist.

"It's what type of Servant the SERAPH has let me summon!"

Three strokes are engraved on that clenched fist.

Command Spells.

The purest light runs through the throne room of the Holy Grail.

It's a light that is so pure that the light of the Coward's Blade cannot be compared.

"You…"

His eyes bulge, his assumptions about being a hero fade away in an instant. What sort of human could still believe in their dream after gazing upon such a Servant?

"Begone, misbegotten soul, drown in the glory of a past that could not be the future and die. There are no more heroes in this world, there are only humans, and while that is regretful we owe it to the suffering of those heroes to keep moving forward."

There is no more salvation allowed to him, for salvation is my right hand.

Disregarding his fading body I turn to face the pure majesty that stands before me.

This is the face of the one man who has surpassed all the suffering of the world to become removed from the cycle of reincarnation.

His serenity washes over me even if I have just killed someone who protected me until the very end.

Even if neither regret nor a confession will bring forgiveness I believe I can accept that.

…This is what it means to correct the path of humanity.

I'll keep on sacrificing everything about Twice and myself until we become a single ideal.

And on this path…

There's nothing brilliant for those who survived to make up for what Twice and those sacrifices lost.

Only the knowledge that their suffering was definitely not in vain.

So…

"I ask thee, art thou my Master?"


	13. into Author

into Author:

03/05/2012

Firstly, yes the title was intentional. I do what fulsome means and its connotations ;). Currently I still haven't finished Fate/ Extra. I've finished Rin route with Nero and currently doing Rani Route with Caster. This is the second time I've completed a route with Nero though, but back then I didn't understand since I played it in Japanese. This will be my final Fate/ into fic. I don't think I could deal with Apocrypha that well considering it's probably never going to see the light of day other than that Jack story which was really good. So enjoy the rest of these stories and review please. As for formatting I've decided to use 's and not Word even if the page seems long.

04/28/2012

Considering the difference in dates I have actually done quite a bit. Just look at the profile updates, etc. But I have been pondering the question: What is Fate? What is Fate as a franchise, and I have have realized that Fate is as Nasu puts it "conquering oneself." Also the premise of having magus summoning Heroic Spirits which fight with each other. But if that interpretation of Fate is true... what is my Fate? So in the end I have to conclude that my Fate is mistaken. My Fate does not have magi, it does not Heroic Spirits, neither does it have a Holy Grail. It is only an archive, perhaps each story being on of the books that each Heroic Spirit reads about themselves while on the eternal prison known as the Throne of Heroes. So rather than being a story about "Fate," I now believe that this is more of a story about "into."

05/14/2012  
>into Fulsomeness is a story of introspection rather than action. Of course, introspection comes when one is acting, but that is not always the case. At this point of time I am nearly finished. I was going to have a special chapter at the end of into Fulsomeness like the others and that would be called "into Monster," but the story of Ryougi Shiki is one which is complete and I would have nothing more to add to it. Like Shirou says about reinforcement: "The thing I'm attempting is like adding something to an already complete work of art." So I'm going to leave Ryougi Shiki alone. But I will have a special. It'll be something I wrote as a Christmas present for someone in 2011. It's rather short, for some odd reason I made a glossary for it, and it really, really, really almost breaks canon which disgusts me. However, the more I think about it, the more it fits with the whole theme of "fulsome."<p>

06/07/2012  
>Finally finished the Caster part of Extra. Enlightening. Well this means I only have Archer left to play through and I'll probably be done with this before I finish Archer's path. I have noticed that my stories are getting increasingly shorter and shorter and more introspective. It irks me a bit, especially while writing into Saber, that my style and prose would turn into something like that. So I've resolved myself to end on a good note. Yes, Fulsomeness is almost complete. Thank you for reading it. Still haven't got any reviews but no news is good news in a way. As for putting images accompanying your fics, I doubt I will do that, so all my fics will have the number four on them. Why have such an idea like that in the first place?<p>

06/12/2012  
>Today is the day that I finished all my fics. The holidays have been a great deal of help for that; however, I will not completely release them in one go. into Saver will be released on it's own. It's incredibly long. As for thoughts about now, well I am reaching the end of my into series. It's been a long time, starting last year and ending well now. I will have one more fic to write and that should be about it. As for Extra? I've been really lagging behind on finishing Archer's route in Extra. I should do that before CCC comes out.<p>

06/15/2012  
>Final update. For all the people who have supported me. Thank you. It takes two to tell a story after all.<p>

into Archer:  
>I didn't want a Robin Hood who had a band of merry men. The Archer in FateExtra seems the type to work alone, never relying on someone, never trusting anyone, and I went with that. As for the French Marian well, that's thanks for someone else. Rien is French for 'nothing' and I felt it was fitting to call her that. Could this story be considered a Mary Sue? Most probably. This one is quite literally a Cinderella story with the cruel step-mother and the stupid step-sisters. Yet this is also a Girl Meets Boy story, but most importantly I want to prove Archer wrong. In Fate/Extra he's so cynical, in his profile it talks about the villagers who he protected but blamed him for everything and made him a convenient existence. That's probably true. I'm not denying that and incorporated that. But Rien is the anti-thesis of that. She's someone who grew up because of Archer. In the Moon Cell Archer indulges himself with self-pity. He complains about his life and that his goals were not met. That pissed me off. Maybe he had a hard life, his name was mud, nobody liked him, and everyone was his enemy. But Archer had people that loved him. But he saved people and that's why he's a hero. If Archer could just see how brave Rien was because of him… maybe he would have accepted his death. As for the gratuitous French… it's French, Google translate it if you really want to know. Most of them are just Tsukihime lines anyway.

into Caster:  
>Yes this is a misnomer. I concentrated on Alice not Nursery Rhyme simply because I believed the Alice for Extra was so interesting. When she describes her death I could only picture a German bombing unloading their bombs onto London and one of them accidently hitting poor little Alice. I'll admit my Alice is a bit OCC. However remember that Extra's Alice spent a long time alone is a white room. I mean the London Blitz is a such a brilliant time period to write in. A world covered with madness, a perfect place to set a Wonderland. I'm surprised Nasu hasn't touched on it. I mean what happened to the Clock Tower when London was at war, where were the magi? And that became my vision. As for the rat, I'm sure many of you would recognize that as Merem Solomon's rat. I don't know why it was there. It wasn't leading Alice on. Rather it was an impetus for her entrance into the Holy Grail War. As for the hair ornaments they are substitutes for mystic eyes for female magi. They usually contain a single action spell that is a last resort. So that's the significance of Alice giving her ribbon to the Duchess and also Dragon Skillet. Oh Dragon Skillet. What engrish. XD<p>

into Berserker:  
>Yes, Sparks Linear High. "It's an overdrive that leads towards death." One of the most beautiful lines in Stay Night, so I merely tried to reproduce it. My own spin on the Battle of Hulao Gate. Lu Bu taking on a a person with inhuman blood. I would think that the protagonist had the same powers as SHIKI. The fact that this boy was able to even land a blow like that on a man who would later become a Heroic Spirit is astounding. If SHIKI and this boy fought... this boy would probably win, it's really who gets to eat the first limb and regenerate, but since this guy can actually "read" his blood, he has a bit more experience. His ability though is weaker than SHIKI's as he could not survive his Inversion Impulse. And yes, the first "paragraph," is a decoy protagonist much like in FateExtra. I'm sorry I used that if you find that offensive.

into Rider:  
>I was stuck. I did not want to write about a male Sir Francis Drake... he kind of seemed like Alexander, of all people. Which is why I was very pleased to find people discussing the possibility of Sir Francis Drake pretending to be Elizabeth somewhere on the internet. If that is true then the reverse should also be true, correct? Well no matter how outlandish this seems, I went with it. But when I was in the middle of it I just noticed that I was writing Elizabeth like a guilt ridden teenager. While I was going for an uncomfortable Elizabeth from the beginning of her reign... I found out that she was older than Sir Francis Drake which was disheartening. And that is why I decided to to something horrible to poor Elizabeth and decided to stunt her emotional growth. I'm not that please with how this story turned out though. I guess I enjoy writing about mythological people rather than real people because this story was entirely about introspection and finding the confidence about throwing off the guilt which comes with kingqueenship. Liberal use of "that" rather than "who" is intentional.

into Saber:  
>While teaching <em>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest<em>, my english teacher told the class that most stories about insanity are about the change from sanity to insanity and that _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _was the other way around, but that is digression. Gawain's story is undoubtedly one of corruption and that is all I wrote. Of course, I'm sure neither the classical nor the TYPE-Moon version of Gawain have that "honeyed voice," I was so fond of. Yet, it seemed fitting for the story of Gawain. As you can probably tell I am incredibly fond of the story of Gawain and the Ugly Damsel, in fact, I was going to basically re-tell that; however, there is not much plot at all, and not much character development. Now Fate/Extra contradicts itself on the matter of Gawain's death. Rani says that he was killed by Lancelot, yet his matrix says that he was killed during the Battle of Camlann when he re-opened a wound that Lancelot gave him. For the purpose of extending the story, I chose to follow the matrix, no matter how much I like Rani.

into Berserker:  
>I'll admit that this can be considered both an origin story and also a copy and past job. I'll even admit that this has nothing to do with Fate at all. Conceptually I struggled the most on this story. I mean Arcuied's story is completely cemented, a testament to her popularity. The gaps that need to be filled would be the Einnashe battle with Ren's original master, or the battle in which Altrouge stole her hair. I am sure there are others, but those are the main holes in Arc's story. Let's just say that I'm not confident enough to fill in those blanks. But I truly loved Alliance of the Illusionary Eyes and the whole idea of Fake Shiki. Yes, that makes me fond of Mobius Strip as well, but the whole genius of Alliance of the Illusionary Eyes astounded me; one wishes to believe that Fake Shiki is Shiki, yet feel like he cannot be the narrator. Also the philosophy was nice as well. So yes, I used Arc as an excuse to write about Fake Shiki and how he went crazy because Arc's way of living bored him while Shiki's excited him. Yes, I understand that this story can only exist in Arc Good End, Satsuki Normal End, or Ciel Good End.<p>

into Saber:  
>Child's narrative voice made it somewhat like Caster. I don't think Nero ever actually fought, so I had no idea what I could do for this one except for a romance, but I don't think I can write tsundere. So I guess in the end I did a sort of "fall from grace," fiction about a boy whose admiration with Nero is dashed. I wrote this while playing Assassin's Creed Brotherhood so I went a bit crazy with the flowery language. I'm surprised that this turned out to be as long as it did. This is nothing special and I a bit disappointed with it. I really don't know what to write for Nero so I just spat something out. But I did try to make Nero as Nasu-protagonist-like as possible.<p>

into Lancer:  
>TATARI. What can I say. I wrote this before I actually wrote into Caster and it is short but and does not have much paragraphing so it's hard to navigate, but what I loved about Melty Blood, was how Wallachia was the first place in which TATARI went to. So I went with that. A slush of rumors that getting less and less exaggerated, leading towards the originator of the rumors, the innocent monster known as Vlad Tepes III cut in with intermissions by a kind of idealistic Zepia I guess. But the intent was a story which traced the rumors which would lead to the manifestation of the thirteenth Dead Apostle Ancestor.<p>

into Caster:  
>First, I would like to apologize to my editor, and then to Caster. I definitely did not do Caster justice in this fiction. This isn't one of those "I did horribly now praise me things." I was actually going to re-write this but decided against it since into Saver was being written and I linked the two somehow. Caster isn't a story about Tamamo-no-mae, sorry guys. It's about the girl before she became the adorable Caster that we all love. It is the story about Mizukume's death and what transpired afterwards. For that, yes it's a very short story. I'm not happy with it, but both Caster's and Saber's stories are done so well by the game that... I really had nothing to work with, not like I'm using that as an excuse.<p>

into Assassin:  
>My leap back into fiery, shonen fueled writing. A bit longer than I expected. My Li Shuwen is older than the one in the game, but younger than the one who uses a spear. This is indeed a origin fic, my nameless OC (I love nameless OC's) was based of Ryougi SHIKI. Funny, I had one OC based off Tohno SHIKI as well. All in all, this was me trying to get back to the roots I had with my other into Assassin with the nameless samurai.<p>

into Saver:  
>Used the engrish Saver instead of Savior. There really isn't a Vairocana story, since he's the celestial buddha, so I went this Twice. My Twice is definitely more shounen then Twice, but that should be okay. This is a Caster story as much as a Twice story, not much Saver. The whole Mordred thing... well I was going through possible Heroic Spirits and the best choice seemed to be Mordred due to his curse. As for Mordred's master, well, I had the whole bastard idea planned but I needed a name. I was going to go with the fourteen year old antagonist from Mobius Strip, but that's too... well I didn't like it. So my OC turns out to the son of Akiha's finance, lol. Thought that was a nice easter-egg.<p> 


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